


Disposition/Induction/Maintenance/Negotiations series

by plumsuede



Series: Disposition/Induction/Maintenance/Negotiations series [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Brian Kinney - Freeform, Dungeon, Fellatio, Fetish, Justin Taylor - Freeform, Kink, Kinky, M/M, Milking, Oral Sex, POV Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk), POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk), Pegging, Rimming, Spanking, slave - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 257,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumsuede/pseuds/plumsuede
Summary: This piece began as a standalone set in post-513 land where Brian and Justin are married and still own the loft and the house in WV. It was written during the time I was writing Beyond the Yellow Brick Road. Eventually, it became the introduction to a series of multiple stories that I am starting to post here July 2020. That series is called: Disposition/Induction/Maintenance/Negotiations series. Disposition and Induction were standard stories. Beginning with Maintenance, the series became a writing experiment that continues today with Negotiations.Disposition/Induction/Maintenance are all completeNegotiations is active today.Originally posted on LJ 9/8/08. Hope you enjoy it.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Disposition/Induction/Maintenance/Negotiations series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811560
Comments: 48
Kudos: 41





	1. Disposition 1&2

**DISPOSITION-PART 1 & 2 (complete)**  
  
 _this time I’m out to get ya_  
  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
You’ve known him for seventeen years, and you still give him more than a passing glance when he walks into Kinnetik to meet with someone in his office there. Rarely do his business dealings intersect with yours, but it’s nice to bump into him at the water cooler now and again—emphasis, of course, on _bump._ You motion for him to come into your office when he’s leaving, and he walks in with his hands stuffed in the pockets of obscenely-expensive-yet-oh-so-casual khaki pants, and when you tell him that you want to take him out to dinner later on, he asks, “Why?”  
  
“Do I have to have a reason to take you out to dinner?” you ask him.  
  
He smiles, feigning embarrassment at your admonishment, _“No.”_  
  
“Half an hour,” you say.  
  
He looks at his watch and then back at you, “I’m not going to be hungry in half an hour.”  
  
“Yes, you will.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
Ten minutes later he calls you from the loft to complain, _“We can’t go anywhere upscale because I have nothing here to wear.”_  
  
“Figure it out,” you tell him.  
  
 _“I’m serious, Brian.”_  
  
“Justin, you have at least twelve pairs of pants in that closet, at least four pairs of shoes, and between the two of us, there are probably twenty or so shirts.”  
  
 _“Twenty-three.”_  
  
“So figure it out.”  
  
He hangs up on you.  
  
……  
  
Four minutes later you receive a text message from him:  
  
 _4get it. not hngry. gng home._  
  
You get up and step into your private lavatory and call him on your cell. _“What?”_ he bemoans as if your voice is the most exhausting thing he’s ever had to endure. (Pity he’s about to be so so wrong.)  
  
“Leave the loft, and you won’t sit down for a week,” you inform him.  
  
……  
  
There’s dead silence on the other end of the line. You take your phone away from your ear to be sure you’re still connected, and once you realize that you are, _you_ hang up on him.  
  
……  
  
Three minutes later you get another text message from him:  
  
 _wtg 4 u…_  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
So it’s four thirty on a gray Thursday in December, and you call it a day, get in your Mercedes and drive to the loft. The elevator ride takes fucking forever, so long that you realize that elevators age just like people. When you open the door to the loft, he’s standing right there—like he hasn’t moved since he last spoke to you. His cell phone is on the island, his hand is covering it, and the look on his face…you’d pay five million dollars to freeze it like that for a year. He watches you, his eyes are the only part of his body actually moving as you take off your coat and lay it over your desk chair, and when you walk over to him, when you put your hand on his waist, your fingers slipping underneath his shirt, he gasps and pulls away. “Cold,” he warns you, and you kiss him as your freezing fingers head for the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning them, and then they warm….  
  
You stop kissing him to tell him, _“You’re hard,”_ and he shivers while he’s redirecting your hand _inside_ his underwear, and you let your hand slide down his dick just so you can feel the heat coming off of him, and he curls his arms around your neck and destroys your hair on purpose so you’ll be too ashamed to take him anywhere.  
  
When the kiss resumes, it’s no longer a kiss. It’s a very frenzied chaotic affair…  
  
It becomes it’s own entity, trying to rush things and it’s working, and he’s close, achingly close; your hair clutched in his fingers, and then you stroke and stroke and stop and squeeze— _hard_ —and then you let go because you have new information for him, “You need to cool it—,” but…  
  
 _“Oh…oh, oh god,”_ and he comes in your hand.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
……  
  
……  
  
And so you stroke him, your hand warm and slick with his mistake, and he’s panicking; his mind is racing; you can feel his heartbeat in his tongue when you kiss him. His mind and his body have broken off all forms of communication that don’t go directly through you which is exactly what you wanted and why he won’t let go, and you need to change the scenery ASAP, so you reluctantly take your hand out of his pants…but it doesn’t go far, just to the small of his back as it nudges him in the right direction, and when you get him to the bedroom, you let go of him and lie down on the bed, picking up your ever-present pack of cigarettes off the nightstand and lighting up. You nod your head at him as you exhale, “Get undressed.”  
  
He has a smile on his face that’s barely there, one that he’s (rightly) afraid to indulge, and he’s boring the hell out of you taking off his shirt, but you don’t chastise him because there’s no blood left in his head to respond to you anyway. His shirt falls on the bed as if it knows how utterly useless it’s become, and then he does the little thing he always does when he takes his shoes off--stands on one shoe to get out of the other—because unlike a genuine fag, he has no respect for shoes. But he always redeems himself when he gets to his pants…  
  
And that’s when he looks at you, and that’s when you smile just a little, and that’s when you make a gesture with your hand that he understands very well, so he turns around. “Go ahead,” you say, and he pulls them down, and you wait a few seconds, stub out your cigarette and get up.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
You hear him, and then you smell him, the remnants of his cigarette as his hand curves beneath your ass, his lips lodged at the base of your neck. The soft kiss he plants there is meant to both calm and deceive you at the same time. You reach up and put your hand on the side of his face and hold him there and breathe. His hands smooth over your underwear for way too long, and when he pulls them down, you sigh in relief.  
  
His zipper goes down like a threat and promise at the same time.  
  
His left hand leaves your ass and wanders to your stomach, and you look down and close your eyes as he pulls your body against his.  
  
“ _Like that?”_ he asks you, meaning the feeling of him stroking himself against you.  
  
“ _Yes.”_  
  
 _“Why?”_  
  
You don’t answer him; you just squeeze his hand where it rests on your stomach and push it lower. “I already know you’re hard,” he says, “That’s not the information I’m after.” Every time you try to concentrate on the real answer to his question, you feel like you’re going to faint, and he knows it and exploits it, becoming almost perversely affectionate, making you feel like he’s cloned himself and that there are suddenly twelve of him in the room. “I want to know what’s going on in that blond little head of yours.”  
  
“I’d really rather not elaborate on that,” you admit, and your voice sounds hollow to you, like it’s not even yours. You can hear _him_ thinking, _his_ thoughts are in your head, not yours, and you have to consciously push them out, and he knows this because he doesn’t say anything for a long time out of respect for the task you’re trying to complete—a quiet, still, and yet a very tactile power conversion.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
……  
  
But after awhile, he decides you’re taking too long and starts pushing you along. “I think we both know I’m not interested in your dick tonight, right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And just to be clear, you’d prefer that I focus my attention elsewhere, correct?”  
  
You breathe in because you can feel all twelve of him pull back into one, “Yes.”  
  
“Good. Nice to know we’re on the same page.”  
  
Your hand that’s still resting on his cheek slides around to the back of his neck, pulling him down a little more. You want to say something to him, a million things really, about what you want and don’t want and need and don’t need, but he already knows…so you just kiss the side of his face…  
  
He smiles; you can feel it in your hand before he moves it and pins it behind your back, trapping it between you. You open your hand; he feels you do it, and he rests his cock in it. You squeeze and his voice deepens and then softens in that way that you hate to love. “How did it feel to stand there and undress for me?” he asks. Your mind starts chanting in some faraway place…  
  
 _Perfect.  
  
Perfectly perfect._  
  
But you sigh and say nothing.  
  
…….  
  
…….  
  
You can’t answer him because telling him is the surrender you want him to steal from you, and you both pretend to be ignorant of this fact as the atmosphere in the room gets a little thicker. “You’re _way_ too quiet,” Brian oozes behind your ear, his hand moving from your trapped arm to between your legs. Your head falls back against his chest. His free hand wanders up from your stomach and touches the side of your face, his thumb tracing your bottom lip as he speaks, “Don’t you think that information belongs to me?”  
  
……  
  
The chant gets louder again… _Yes._  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“I feel like I’m speaking in a language you don’t understand, Justin,” he says, a warning tone in his voice as his hand wraps around your chin, keeping your head back. Your eyes start to dry out; you want him so badly. He walks around you and stands in front of you, his hand still on your face and looks at you with an intensity that makes all the blood in your body run to your eyeballs to stay in the moment, and then his expression softens, his fingers relax, and he leans down to kiss you, but it’s not a kiss, it’s a question. “So we’re gonna do this the hard way?” he asks your uncooperative silence, towering over you in the mitigated darkness falling over your bedroom. He kisses you, and for a few seconds, everything is like it always is.  
  
Except not.  
  
His voice begins to drip with molasses—slow and sickeningly sweet; it matches the pressure beneath his fingertips, but not the sentiment behind his words, “I’m not fucking around with you tonight.” His hands feel bigger; the room feels smaller. “Are we clear about that?”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He smiles at the tardiness of your answer, “Good. Face down, please.”  
  
There’s a heavy expectation seeping into the room as you lie on your stomach and watch him undress. You smell the sheets before he gets in them because you know they’ll smell different after he’s done with you, and when he walks out of the bedroom, you turn your head toward the window and close your eyes because that’s what you’re supposed to do. You don’t need to know anything else; that’s what he would tell you if you needed to be told, but you don’t. You hear the refrigerator open and close; you hear ice; you hear cupboards closing; you hear him as he gets closer, as he comes back. “Here,” he says, and you open your eyes and look up and he’s standing above you with a drink in his hand; you thank him and take it. It’s whiskey; his is neat; yours isn’t. His is gone when he gets to the other side of the bed—an empty glass left on the night table right before he pulls the top drawer open. He lies down next to you, and you offer him the rest of your drink, and he shakes his head, “No, I want you to finish it,” and then he’s lying next to you, his head propped on his hand. When there’s nothing but ice left, he gives you a look that means _you’re done_ so you hand it to him and watch as he reaches back and sits it next to his glass. And all he has to do is look at you with a scintilla of expectation, and you lay back down on your stomach again. He surveys you, and you follow his eyes as they scan the length of your body and then return to your face, his gaze is so intense that his eyes feel like his hands. He reaches out and touches you on the shoulder and you tense up; his brow furrows immediately in disapproval. He sees the regret on your face; he watches you as you force yourself to relax. He touches you again, his fingertips on your forehead. The expression on his face…  
  
He’s sizing you up, like he’s trying to decide if you’re even worth fucking. You’re dying to close the space between you, to answer that question for him, but he’s not the least bit interested in a second opinion on the subject; he window shops alone.  
  
Minutes pass as he inspects you; your skin begins to warm where he’s been staring at it for too long. Finally, his fingers spread apart as they move through your hair; he smiles—just for a second--before he speaks, “How long has it been since I’ve paddled you?”  
  
……  
  
It’s not exactly the question you were expecting.  
  
But…perhaps one that you’ve been wanting…  
  
“Um…a long time, I guess,” you answer.  
  
“So long overdue?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.  
  
You don’t know what answer he wants; you give him the answer you want him to have, “Yeah, I guess so.”  
  
His hand rolls down your back as he moves closer to you; he kisses the side of your face. The closeness is a relief, but you know it comes with a price…how high still a mystery. His hand moves lower still, resting possessively on your ass as he launches a very intimate, very claustrophobic conversation, “I think it’s been way too long.”  
  
His gaze is making you nervous and really, really hard; the intensity feels like the first night you met him. When you speak, your voice sounds like a little boy, “You do?”  
  
“Yeah, I do.”  
  
And then his face comes closer to yours, and you know he’s going to kiss you, and just knowing it makes you need it twice as much as you needed it a second ago, and it’s the way he kisses you that makes you want him in that way that you’re ashamed to want anybody. And he pulls away when he’s done, slow and reticent like he wants you to come with him, but he pushes your face away, gently but with purpose, and makes you lie down again, makes you put your face in the sheets, and his palm stays on the back of your head as he moves down your back until he needs his hand because he’s between your legs. You feel his fingers and then his tongue on the inside of your thigh, and your hands inch forward to hang on to the edge of the mattress. “ _This is the most beautiful, most fuckable view in the world,_ ” he whispers right where he fucks you. His hands continue the intimate scrutiny, “Will you come for me if I eat your pretty little ass?”  
  
You heart thumps into the mattress, “Yes.”  
  
His fingers spread you apart, “You promise?”  
  
“God, yes.”  
  
Your stomach drops; his mouth, the pleasure it’s offering, you have to have it; you can’t stop yourself from pushing toward his face. He doesn’t shy away as you try to get some leverage in the sheets. “I could watch this all night,” he says as your bottom comes toward him again and again trying to steal some pleasure. Your eyes close after they roll back in your head.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
He tastes like it needs to be spanked, needs to be fucked—relentlessly--and when you stop eating him and let your mouth wander back up to his face, he greets you with a pillowcase strangled in his hands, “Jesus Christ, why’d you stop?” And then he hears you, sees you, slide the paddle across the sheets and he knows the answer. His elbows bend, his hands press the sheets for leverage as he starts to get up; you stop him, “No, stay right where you are. This is how I’m going to paddle you.”  
  
He resists you as you hold him down, “Brian, no.”  
  
“ _Face down,_ ” you whisper behind his ear as he gives up and puts his head back down, “ _Face down with your ass wet and ready._ ”  
  
“Please don’t.”  
  
“Open your legs for me.”  
  
“No,” he pleads again, “Please no.”  
  
“What’s the problem?” you ask as you let him feel the cool, smooth wood of the paddle on his back.  
  
The vulnerable tenor in his one word protest is customized for your dick, “ _Brian.”_ He’s so torn up inside, god, it’s beautiful; you press yourself against his thigh…  
  
“What’s the problem?” you repeat.  
  
His initial reluctance to answer your question means that he gets to feel the impending wood smoothing down his inner thigh; it also means that he immediately changes his tune and answers you, “I want to be on my knees, please.”  
  
“Why?” you ask.  
  
“You know why,” he says, a little pissed.  
  
You abandon the paddle in the sheets for the moment, and turn all of your attention to your conversation with him. “I do know why, but I want you to tell me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because it makes my dick harder than a ten carat diamond and because I said so.”  
  
“You’re harassing me,” he says with a bit of a smile on his face.  
  
“Justin, I’m going to come from the look on your face, and then you’re _really_ going to get it. Answer my question.”  
  
……  
  
“I forgot the question.”  
  
You laugh at him as your hand takes up residence between his legs again, your fingers wrapping around the paddle, “Why do you so desperately need to be up your on knees with your tight little ass—?”  
  
He’s aggravated now because he remembers so he cuts you off, answering you into his pillow so he can pretend he didn’t say it and you didn’t hear it, “ _Because it feels like punishment to me.”_  
  
You follow him down into his pillow, “ _And that’s what you want, right? To feel like you’re being punished?_ ”  
  
 _”Yes.”_  
  
“ _Open your legs.”_ He acquiesces, disposing of a vicious, reluctant moan at the same time.  
  
You smile at him and hook your leg over his to keep his legs apart, “ _Thank you.”_  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
Justin’s frustration with you is no surprise; it harkens back to the night before, because you didn’t click over and answer him when he was calling your cell for over an hour because you were on the phone with an asshole client whose account you were about to lose. And while you might be the smartest and hottest man on the planet, you’re still an idiot because when you walked into the door of your house—from the garage and into the kitchen—Justin was sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner, and he’d set a place for you, only there wasn’t a plate there, there was just a knife, fork, spoon and a postcard sitting where the plate should’ve been. So when you walked into the kitchen and smiled at him, put your hand on his shoulder and leaned down to kiss him, he kissed you back, but not in an _I’m glad you’re home_ way, but more like an _I’ll suffer through this tedious ritual_ way, and when you sat down in your chair, he immediately got up, rinsed off his plate, put it in the dishwasher, turned off all the lights in the kitchen, walked upstairs, and slammed the bedroom door.  
  
And there you were, sitting in the dark having a postcard for dinner.  
  
You got up, turned the light back on and read the postcard. It was an emergency recall for the driver’s side airbag in your new Mercedes--turns out that its trigger mechanism was overly sensitive.  
  
Sort of like what was waiting for you upstairs.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
For all the years you battled with Justin about the parameters of your relationship, you realized once you finally shut up that you were protesting in an echo chamber because there are few things that bring you more pleasure than tending the garden he grows in. Granted, you forget to pull the weeds now and again, but once you remember, it will be in tip top shape before the sun sets again. And when you really fuck up and don’t water the flowers for months on end, then he’s more than happy to destroy the entire plot while you stand there and watch…  
  
…because he loves you _that much._  
  
So when the trust has eroded in your relationship, the tangible reality of it often plays out first in the bedroom, which is fine with you because that’s the best terrain for you to be standing on when you’re ready to repair the damage.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
So when you opened the previously slammed door to your bedroom, you found Justin sitting in the dark in the wingback chair by the window, his legs tucked underneath him, his arms folded—not in defiance, but rather self-protection—which is always a very bad sign. He looked away when you opened the door. You sat down on the bed, facing him. “Go ahead, yell at me; get it out of your system.”  
  
“It’s not even worth it.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have ignored your calls; it won’t happen again.”  
  
“Because I might have more life-saving factoids for you or because you might actually want to talk to me?”  
  
“How about both?”  
  
“How about you leave me the fuck alone right now?”  
  
“How about _you_ bring your ass over here right now?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I said so; that’s why.”  
  
He got up from the chair with every ounce of irritation you expected and walked over to you, and you put your arms around him and kissed him, and he was less than cooperative until you made it clear that you weren’t letting go and that your hand had every intention of staying in his pants. “I’m gonna fuck you,” you said, “Whether you like it or not.”  
  
“I’m still mad at you.”  
  
“I know, but your ass isn’t.”  
  
“You’re _so_ clever,” he said, rolling his eyes.  
  
“And you’re _so_ hard.”  
  
You didn’t let him say anything else, and your shirt was thrown to the side in short order, and your pants were all but off, and to his credit, Justin assisted in that endeavor, and then you lay back on your bed and motioned for him, “To get on it.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
All the dust floating through the air froze.  
  
Something was off.  
  
“Yoo hoo…,” you said trying to bring him back into the same universe that you were in.  
  
His eyes moved back to your face so slowly as he posed what you thought was a real question, “Why do I have to do all the work?”  
  
You gave him the real, logical answer, which, to your credit, you were pretty proud of, “Because you feel powerless. You have the power now; the fuck is yours; it’s your show.” _Duh,_ you thought.  
  
But he refused.  
  
And went back to his chair.  
  
You sat there staring at each other for almost a minute, and then he looked away, and when he wouldn’t look back, you started to realize what was wrong. “Come back to bed,” you told him as you leaned against the headboard, and he did so solely because of the unyielding tone in your voice. He sat next to you with a painfully stoic expression on his face. “It’s okay,” you said as you pulled his shirt up and over his head, and when your hand touched the waistband of his pants, he finished the job for you, letting them fall on the floor. You held your arm out, and he climbed into your lap, straddling you like he’s done a million times, his head laying against your shoulder. He was no longer angry; he’d passed angry a long time ago; he was hurting. Your hand smoothed down his back as you conceded, “Okay, I get it. The power is mine.” He relaxed a little, his hands opening behind your head. “I’m sorry,” you added, “I’m dense.” The tense quiet returned; you wrapped your arms around him, “What’s the matter?”  
  
“Is it me? Are you just not interested--?”  
  
You cut him off, “Who authorized your lobotomy?”  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
“So am I.”  
  
“It’s just…. It’s been over _seven_ months since we’ve done any—“  
  
“You’ve been counting?”  
  
“…Wishing.”  
  
“Well, perhaps you should wish aloud once in a while,” you suggested.  
  
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have to.”  
  
“Point taken.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“Do you ever have to ask to have your dick sucked? Everyday?”  
  
“I said, ‘ _Point taken.’”_  
  
“Never once in a million years did I think that you’d take any part of our sex life, much less this part, for granted, you of all people.”  
  
“Why don’t you see how many more times you can beat that dead horse, Justin?”  
  
“Well, at least something would be getting beaten.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
You smacked him on the ass, and that’s when you realized, “Did I just walk into a fucking trap?”  
  
“I don’t know. Do it one more time so I can tell for sure.”  
  
“You little twat.”  
  
“It’s so good to see you again, Mr. Kinney.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
It was pitch dark in your bedroom as he sat in your lap, and you listened to him, to everything he said—verbal and non-verbal…  
  
How he missed the days when you kept him on edge about what his night would be like, how he missed being across your lap on a regular yet not predictable basis, how he enjoyed being so fucked out that he was absolutely useless until at least noon the following day…  
  
How he missed _you._  
  
The more you thought about, the more you realized that you didn’t even know where you’d been. And the longer he sat on your lap, you realized that wherever it was, wasn’t as good as where you were at that moment. And so rather than belabor the moment with a tedious, lame-ass apology, you told him to get up on his knees, and you spanked him. As soon as you heard the hesitation of pain in his voice, you made him sit on you and ride, and if he didn’t listen, if he didn’t sit all the way down each time so you could feel the burn all the way through to your thighs, you pulled out and spanked him again.  
  
There was no more bitching after that.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
And so that next night, you were in the loft making it up to him, yes, but also to yourself. The neglect of the last few months was never going to happen again, and if your dick somehow catches another round of amnesia, you’re going to have to man up and spank it, too.  
  
So that Thursday night you were coming to terms with that fact that it’s not easy to paddle Justin because you have to give up the experience of feeling his bottom heat up in your hand, of feeling the correlation between the pain in your fingers and the beautiful distance in his eyes when he starts succumbing to the endorphins that overtake him. So to offset this horrible side-effect, you warm him up with your hand. And so he’s face down in the sheets as you press yourself against him and start to escalate the situation. His hand is on your chest, and it slides and hooks through the triangle made by your head propped on your hand as the paddle dips between his legs; you lean down and whisper in his ear, “ _You deserve this, don’t you?”_ His face moves closer to your arm as his eyes shift up to yours, his fingers tighten around your muscle, “ _Yes._ ”  
  
“ _And why is that?”_  
  
You can actually feel his face heat up against your arm before he answers you, “ _Because I want it.”_  
  
It’s been a long time so you take your time; you’re in no hurry…  
  
……  
  
And the whispering goes by the wayside because he’s moaning…  
  
And not flinching…  
  
And your dick is calling _911_ every ten seconds because you won’t pick up the phone. It tends to forget that there’s no more call waiting when your name is name is being repeated over and over like it’s a prayer for salvation.  
  
Justin’s mouth is sort of open, and he’s staring all glassy-eyed and high, and breathing in that way he breathes when he wants you in his ass five minutes ago, and when you tell him, “I don’t think you want it; I think you _need_ it,” he disagrees and you smile and say, “Yeah, you do because your sweet little ass chases the paddle the second it’s gone. You’re coming after it.”  
  
“ _No,_ ” he insists in that way that means, _Tell me again._  
  
“And now all of your cheeks are blushing.”  
  
He rolls his eyes at you, “Whatever.”  
  
The pain he feels after that is very, very real, and you stay tethered to him as you push him right out on that ledge; you lean down, smell his hair, kiss him, force him to marry the two conflicting sensations, and he thanks you by starting to get up on own…  
  
The paddle falls out of your hand as you force him back down in the sheets, your hand between his legs cutting his knees right out from under him.  
  
“Brian, god; fuck me, _please_.”  
  
You let your hand go where it wants to go, let it sink into the red heat that’s waiting for it; he begs as you touch him, tells you he’s ready, asks you to rim him, smacks your arm when you grab the red raw skin you just paddled and squeeze it tightly in your hand. “I’m not ready to fuck this yet,” you tell him, and he begs again, just much more quietly because even he realizes how unseemly it’s become.  
  
And so there’s a pleasant intermission—the sound of him pleading with you under his breath, the sight of his sore bottom trying desperately to fuck your hand, and trying and trying and trying, and you kiss him because you feel sorry for him, and that’s when he does it, that’s when his knees try to pull that little trick one more time.  
  
You make a decision: you’ve got to get one head back in the game and the other one out of it.  
  
“Roll over,” you tell him, and he looks confused, and you raise your eyebrows at him like _did I stutter?_ so he rolls onto his back, and you hover over him, caging him beneath you, “Did you think I was kidding when I said I wasn’t fucking around with you tonight?”  
  
His eyes shift back and forth nervously, “No?” Confusion is so delicious on him.  
  
You put your hand on his face, trace his jaw line with your thumb, pull his mouth open; he wants to say something…and he can’t. But you can…  
  
“It’s not like you to misbehave like this.”  
  
You lean down and kiss him, and he tries to respond, but your thumb is still holding his mouth open; he moans instead, reaches up and puts his hand on the back of your neck, petting you out of desperation. “And I don’t like it,” you tell him. His tongue slips out from under your thumb and he tries to swallow. You let him, and the second he swallows, he gasps, and then you kiss him, and he opens wide, the way he always did when you first met, when he never knew when he was going to see you again; he gives you everything you want; he plays his whole hand in the first three seconds of that kiss. And then you stop, his face in your hand, your eyes locked with his, “Slide down so I can fuck your face,” and the confusion turns to anger that he tries to hide by staring at you like you didn’t just tell him to do something. “It’s no joke, Sunshine; go,” and you slap his face—lightly—and laugh, and then watch as he disappears, and when he’s right where you want him, you clamp him still with your legs; his arms snake around your thighs, and when you tell him to, “Open up,” he rolls out the red carpet and lets you slide down his tongue and straight into heaven. You reach between your legs and stroke his hair, “Good boy.” He knows better than to try to control you; he just holds on, lack jawed when necessary, tight when you want it; your fingers twist in his hair as he grunts from the pressure.  
  
“Be still so I can come,” you tell him when you’re ready, and his hands tighten around your legs, “Wide open, Justin; I want to feel you choke.” His throat tightens; your brain warms; his hands move immediately to your hips, pushing you down inside him, the gurgling, gasping sounds he makes are the soundtrack for a later fuck.  
  
He coughs hard when you pull out, clears his throat as he slides back up to be eye level with you. Even in the darkness, you can tell that his face is red; his eyes are watering. “You okay?” you ask him. He puts his arms around your neck and nods; his attitude apparently adjusted. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. “I’m not sure I am,” you say. He smiles…just a little; he never loses his sense of humor. You reach between you and touch him, stroke him, lean down and kiss away the tears on his face. “ _Did that feel like punishment?”_ you ask him quietly.  
  
 _“Yeah,”_ he whispers.  
  
“Good because it was.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“Now you can get on your knees.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
This side of heaven is so fucking beautiful.  
  
Because he’s unleashed himself on you and there’s no turning back.  
  
You don’t have to tell him how far you want to go because he’s already miles ahead of you, and now you’re blind-folded in the backseat. It’s the best road trip in the world. He forces you up against the wall in front of your bed, keeps you up on your knees, his hands in front of you and behind you as he kneels on your left side. He strokes you, kisses you, paddles you…all at the same time. You want to come for him; you don’t even feel the pain anymore. His face is leaning on the wall; he stares at you as the tunnel the two of you are in gets even more narrow. You feel the paddle rest on the back of your calves. “Close your eyes,” he says, and you do.  
  
The next time you feel it, he’s back and it’s pressing on the inside of your thigh and then resting there, and then he’s right there; his mouth is right in front of yours when he says, “Open up,” and pushes a plug inside you. The paddle is picked up; he tells you to open your eyes; he kisses you and says, “Hands on the wall, please.” You flatten your palms on the wall and he smiles as his hand presses on your stomach, forcing you into the posture he wants; your ass is flush with the paddle. “We’re going to do this until you come,” he says, “Understand?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It’s nothing but hot pink madness behind your eyes when he hits that spot and holds you still and hits it again and again and again, and he makes you hold that position, his face right next to yours on the wall, “I want you to come from the shame. I know you want to, Justin. I know it’s all you want.”  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
“Oh, it is. You use the pain, Justin. You use it like a whore just to get you there.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Go ahead and come all over the wall. Just let it go because once you do, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t know how to spell shame."  
  
Instant art.  
  
You make it and then the plug is history, and he practically picks you and turns you one hundred and eighty degrees, and you’re facing the kitchen getting your ass pounded while everything starts to feel dull and numb—until he yanks you up by your hair, knotting it in his fist when he comes, jerking your neck back with each wave.  
  
“Ow, ow, ow, _fuck_ , Brian.”  
  
“Sorry,” he groans as he collapses half on top of you half beside you.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
Brian, of course, immediately lights up after it’s over because the nicotine helps him philosophize about the experience, the tip of his thumb resting on his nose, “That…will be what kills me.”  
  
“It better not be unless I go at the same time. “  
  
“If I’m any good, you should.” He looks over at you, notes that you’re laying on your stomach and asks, “You’re really sore, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yeah, but in a good way.”  
  
He rolls, puts his cigarette out and then rolls back, moving so he’s right beside you; he puts his hand on the back of your head, “Can I help?”  
  
You smile, “As long as you don’t fuck with my hair.”  
  
“C’mere,” he says, and you roll onto your side, your head resting against his chest. His hand travels down your back and rests where the real damage was done. “That last couple of hours we just spent together…?” he says letting it hang in the air.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“That’s why I love you.”  
  
“You’re hard again.”  
  
“Okay, that’s also why my dick loves you.”  
  
Your hand pays a welcome visit between his legs. “I’m listening.”  
  
“The more you trust me; the more I feel that; the farther I want to take you,” he says and then he kisses your forehead.  
  
“And now my dick is listening, too.”  
  
“I’m not joking.”  
  
“I know you’re not.”  
  
You then embark on a very protracted make-out session to further exemplify that point.  
  
“I want you to take me there,” you tell him; he raises his eyebrows as if he doesn’t quite believe you. You clarify your point, “But only if you kidnap me, tie me up, blindfold me, torture me, and threaten me within an inch of my life on the way.”  
  
“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.”  
  
“Yeah, me too.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Although you’re both completely exhausted from the evening’s romp, there’s an odd energy in the air that’s swirling above the two of you. He’s in your arms like he always is, but there’s something different…  
  
He’s being _way_ too affectionate for a man that’s about to zonk out, and he hasn’t shut up for twenty-five minutes, so you decide that it might be worth it to actually listen to what he’s saying…. You put your hand on his face and before you can even say anything, he pushes it back down, relocating it to his ass where it’s been hanging out. He catches the curious expression on your face and immediately shuts up and flips in your arms so he’s facing away from you. You’re not exactly sure how, but you interrupted a moment you didn’t know you were having with him.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
At first, you plan to apologize for whatever you did, but you don’t because that’s not what he wants. He’s pre-empts it in his sweet, hungry way, pressing back against you, relinquishing a soft, needy moan as you push back inside him. You listen to his breathing, make yourself feel it, watch his hands on the sheets because that’s how you know what he wants…  
  
And he’s not interested in sweet nothings or cuddle time.  
  
At all.  
  
“You need to take it easy,” you tell the back of his neck, “You’re going to be so fucking sore tomorrow.”  
  
He reaches back for you, and at the end of a very intimate kiss says, “You have no idea how sore I want to be.”  
  
There’s no daylight between you as you sink even deeper inside him; _“I want to know,”_ you breathe as your hand clears away the hair on the back of his neck.  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” you reaffirm, “And preferably sooner rather than later…or I will hold you down and fuck it out of you...”  
  
“Do it,” he dares you.  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
You watch his finger trace an imaginary design on the sheet in front of his face as you listen to him, “You know the other night, actually it was like a couple of weeks ago, when you came home from work, and I was in the kitchen trying to figure out what to make for dinner?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And I told you how you looked so fucking hot in that suit, and you said we should just go out because we had nothing decent to eat in the house?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And I went upstairs to change so I would look at least half as good as you?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
And then he turns his head a little so he can see you, “You should’ve followed me.” Your dick finds the playful tone in his voice intriguing, “Oh?” He turns away from you again, content to keep the rest to himself so you have to prompt him, “Is there more to this story?”  
  
“There could’ve been if you hadn’t been so interested in listening to that fugly guy, what’s-his-name, blather on about NAFTA and CAFTA.” (You roll your eyes because he’s tried to have _CNBC_ , just that particular channel, removed from your cable service twice. When the cable company told him they’d have to remove the entire tier which would include all of the gay and home improvement channels, which—lets face it, are the same thing—he backed off. Furthermore, when you tried to sit down and explain to him how much of your money is in mutual and sovereign funds, and why watching those fugly guys is like either having your balls licked or cut off depending on the day, his response was, “Well, would _they_ still love you if they knew you only had one left like I do?” The only answer you had for that left him smiling from ear to ear.)  
  
“Kindly leave those geezers out of our bed,” you admonish him, and he apologizes, so you continue, “You wanted me to follow you?” There’s a beat of silence and then his hand is on your hand, and there’s a quiet negotiation going on between his legs because he wants to jerk off while he talks about this, but you won’t allow it, so your hand stays where it is; he moans in distress. “Go on,” you urge him. “I’m following you…”  
  
“Well, I mean… It’s just, I suck you off every morning....” and the end of his sentence hangs abandoned in the air.  
  
……  
  
Before he wouldn’t shut up, but now that you’re on the right subject, he clams up.  
  
“You know,” you inform him, “I’ve never actually come from a bedtime story, and you have a unique opportunity to make that happen.” And then you remind him as only you can that you are fucking him right then, and he laughs a little, “Okay.”  
  
“So you were saying, you suck me off every morning…”  
  
His voice is so low, the way he talks when he’s really serious about something, the way he talks when he’s not looking at you, and yet there’s also an odd hit of hope of it, something that never mixes in with it in normal circumstances. It fascinates you as you listen, “Do you know why I suck you off every morning?” And suddenly you feel like you’re in very dangerous territory, swimming with very hot sharks, but come on, they’re still _sharks,_ so you don’t say anything at first, and, of course, that doesn’t sit well with him. “Hello?”  
  
“I’m not answering that question,” you tell him.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because that’s a minefield covered with daisies.”  
  
“It is not, Brian,” he protests.  
  
You decide to play dumb, “Okay, then no, I don’t know.”  
  
“Because it’s something that you expect from me, because we both know that no matter how our morning starts out, that your cock will be in my mouth at some point before you leave for work.”  
  
“I’m not going to make it much longer if you keep saying shit like that, just fyi.”  
  
He pushes back to make it worse, and you bite his shoulder where you were kissing it, and his body is warm and damp, the way it always is when he’s about to come. “Keep going,” you tell him.  
  
“Well, there’s more to it than that, really….”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
His words become farther apart as he gets to the real truth, “I fantasize about it every day the minute you leave.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
You stop moving so you can hear him; he’s speaking like you’re in a crowded movie theater or something, like it’s not allowed, “It’s the way I feel when I have to suck you off…. I don’t want that feeling to go away. _Ever.”_ And then he reaches back and the look on his face is so unguarded, so sacrificial that it overtakes you for a few seconds. “I want you to kiss me,” he says, _“Please.”_  
  
And you do a lot more than that.  
  
He fills in the details as you push him onto his stomach, “You come home from work, and we talk about the stuff we always talk about, but while that’s going on, you’re directing me upstairs, and our conversation is interrupted because you’re undressing me or I’m undressing for you, and no matter what we’re doing or have to do, you _make_ me bend over for you first—“  
  
You interrupt him because you fear you’ll come before he does, “Do you promise to hate every minute of it?”  
  
“Yes, god, yes, I swear.”  
  
“To beg me to stop?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
You slide your fingers through his hair and then make a fist, lifting his head off the pillow, “To fight me when it hurts?”  
  
“Fuck me.”  
  
You lift it higher, “Answer me.”  
  
“I’ll do anything you want.”  
  
“You little pistol.”  
  
 _“Fuck me.”_  
  
You release his hair so you don’t snap his head off and then fuck him while the image of him begrudgingly bending over for you day after day after day flashes in front of your face, and it’s not until you come inside his owned little ass that you realize that you’ll be lucky to stretch your workday until noon for the rest of your life.  
  
And he’s smiling like a fool underneath you, and then you hear him say, “ _Brian,_ ” in protest, and you realize he didn’t come, and you feel infused with a renewed energy to torture the fuck out of him, but he’s exhausted and rightfully so, so you free him from your weight, roll him over, and lay on top of him, telling his pretty little face to relax and his legs to stay wide open so you can suck him off.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
And the following day, Friday, your morning blow job becomes an even more splendid event. He comes into your office at seven fifteen like he always does, telling you that you need to get moving or you’ll be late, and you stop checking your email, voicemail, and close your briefcase, and then stand up and lean back against your desk and let him molest you—all standard operating procedure--until the kiss that normally begins his descent down your torso somehow ends with his pants on the floor next to his knees and him coming all over your desk drawers as you pour everything you have down his throat. “I didn’t hit your pants,” he says, wiping his mouth is no longer obstructed.  
  
“Taylor,” you admonish him when he stands up and puts you back together like he always does. “You’ve sucked me off so many times that you can jerk off while you’re doing it, huh?”  
  
“With my hands tied behind my back.”  
  
“Don’t give me any ideas.”  
  
“Go to work,” he says, “I love you.”  
  
“Yeah, uh…there’s a huge part of me that doesn’t want to.”  
  
“I know which part that is,” he says with a smile.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
You jerk off the minute you get to the office.  
  
In the car.  
  
Pretending that you’re on the phone if anyone walks by.  
  
All day long, every time anyone says, “Thank you,” you hear, “Spank you,” and then you look down at your right hand in fear that maybe you acted on it without realizing it. You pack up and leave at three o’clock because you can’t fucking stand it anymore.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
He’s surprised when you get home, sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal and still in his pajamas. At first, he has the standard, _What the hell are you doing home so early?,_ look on his face that he’s had for years, and then his brain clicks to the next image like he’s looking through a _Viewmaster_ , and he sort of smiles.  
  
“You’re still in your pajamas?” you ask.  
  
He gets up and sits his bowl in the sink, “I can’t concentrate.” He takes your briefcase out of your hand, something that you just now realize he does everyday and sits it in the closest kitchen chair, and returns to where he was. “What’s your excuse?” he says.  
  
“I don’t wear pajamas.”  
  
He stares at you the way he always stares at you when he wants you to kiss him, closing his eyes the second you put your hand on his face, and you kiss him—on the forehead—and say, very quietly, “Go get in the shower please.”  
  
His eyes open and they’re almost twinkling.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
He thinks you’re going to join him, but you don’t, and you catch him looking for you from your vantage point in the corner of your bedroom where you’re sitting in your very comfortable chair watching _Closing Bell_ on _CNBC_. He closes the door while he dries his hair so as not to disturb you, a gesture you find remarkably charming. When he opens the door, you ignore him so he gets dressed—in clean pajamas—and then he walks over to you, and you open your arms, so he sits in your lap. “It’s almost over,” you say. He whispers, _”Okay”_ , in your ear. You turn off the television when they cut to the last commercial, set the remote aside and then enjoy the smile that forms on his face as your fingers play with the waistband on his pants. “So how’s the market today?” he asks, “Up or down?”  
  
“Oh, definitely up,” you reply, “Almost as if it’s snorted _Viagra._ ”  
  
“I can relate to that.”  
  
You pull his face to yours, open your mouth, and get off on the slow, sweet melting kiss that evolves between you because it’s always been such a truth serum in your relationship. You can learn everything you want to know about Justin by kissing him; you can taste the trust, the desire, the simmering enthusiasm…. You can feel his limits when the kiss depends, limits he doesn’t even fully understand. You don’t have to look at him when it’s over to confirm your findings, but you usually do because it’s impossible not to, because he’s almost always smiling in that way he does that makes him so fuckingly irresistible.  
  
“So, let’s get this over with,” you say, nodding toward the bed, and his eyes give away his prescribed anxiety about the situation. You push him a little so he’ll get up and out of the comfortable confines of your lap, and the uber-vulnerable look on his face is enough to make you snatch him back but you don’t; you sit there with your legs crossed, with your hands resting on the arms of the chair…  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
You feel like his eyes are penetrating your skin as you walk toward your bed; the high you feel begins almost instantly. You try to regulate it, but it’s almost impossible. Brian shifts in the chair behind you, and you can feel the blood racing beneath your skin. Your back is to him because that’s what he wants to see. And so he begins, “So today was rough, huh?”  
  
“Hard,” you say, and he laughs for a second. You smile a little.  
  
“Because you’ve been anticipating this all day?” Your throat constricts, and you realize how long it’s been since the mere sound of his voice has done that to you. “Yeah.”  
  
“How many times did you jerk off?”  
  
You have to tell him the truth, “I’m not really sure.”  
  
He laughs a little because he knows you really don’t know; he knows you too well. “And how many of those orgasms happened without a plug in your ass?”  
  
“Very few.”  
  
“Hmm.” You wrap your hand around the bedpost to steady yourself, your eyes focusing on the intricate but faint pattern in your bedspread. You lean forward and rest your forehead on your hand and close your eyes. Brian gets up. Once he’s right behind you, he wraps himself around you, folds you into a cocoon, everything becomes warm and dark and tangibly nefarious. His intentions become a welcome and foregone conclusion as his hands slip inside your pants and pull them down right below your ass. “You know,” he says, his voice almost more steam than sound, “…all I could think about at work today was coming home to you…and watching you want this—“  
  
His hands feel like free-wheeling ecstasy sliding across your skin. “I want more…,” you say; it slips out.  
  
“More?”  
  
“ _I want you to destroy me,_ ” you whisper.  
  
“Is that right?”  
  
You don’t say another thing because you don’t have to; he understands; you can tell by the increased pressure in his fingertips, the slight change in the tone of his voice…  
  
“Well, lucky for you that’s the special tonight.”  
  
He moans in a way that lets you know his eyes are closed; he touches you in a way that lets you know that he already knows what your body wants long before your mind decides to tell him, and as he starts talking again, you start to float; he might as well be lifting you up off the floor. “I want to take you too far tonight,” he says, his voice soft and low, right behind your ear. “I want you to come when you don’t want to, and I want you beg for relief when you’re not going to get any.”  
  
“ _Brian.”_  
  
“And I want to fuck you when you’re too red and raw and sore to stand it.” His hand is right between your legs so when your knees start to buckle, he pulls you right back up. “So do you want to be a good boy for me tonight?” he asks you, his voice laced with filthy expectations.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“I hope you mean that,” he says, his words becoming farther and farther away as he bends down to help you step out of your pants. His mouth stops on the way back up, tasting the target.

*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
The bed frame has become a crutch for him, and he gladly lets go when you pull his hands off the pole and turn him around in your arms. There’s no gravity left in his world without you; he leans against your body as your hands travel lower, migrating to the site of your next endeavor. There’s something about him in that moment, something so viciously tender that it begins to steer the evening’s activities. Your touch softens; your voice lowers; you feel his body relying on yours even more. “It’s been a long time since you knew you were going to be spanked when I came from work, hasn’t it?” you ask him, his head laying against your chest. His body coils around yours as he responds making you feel more and more like a snake charmer. His answer is given after a very long kiss, “It’s been forever and a million days.”  
  
“But you knew today, right? That’s why you couldn’t concentrate?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then why weren’t you ready for me?”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it.  
  
“’Sorry’ is not an answer.”  
  
He tries again; his voice attracting anxiety like a magnet, “Because I didn’t know what time. You came home early.”  
  
You attempt to clarify the situation, “So your contention is that if I’d walked in the door at five thirty, the situation would’ve been different?”  
  
“Yes,” he says, oddly relieved.  
  
“Justin?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You may be a very hot piece of ass, but you’re a lousy liar.”  
  
“I’m not lying.”  
  
“Okay, correction: a hot piece of ass that’s about to get a lot hotter.”  
  
“Stop it, Brian.”  
  
“You can turn around and bend over now; we’re done talking.”  
  
“No,” he protests, and his rhetorical resistance begins.  
  
You abandon him, pulling your belt out of your pants, coiling it and setting it on the night stand, watching him stand there while you undress, and when you’re finished, you sit down on the edge of your bed with an open posture, reach out and pull him closer to you, your knee now in between him and the bed; he’ll be bending over that as well. His thighs rest against your leg. “I vote to cut the bullshit,” you say, stroking him while he stands there, his cock beading in your hand. His hand rests heavy on your shoulder, holding him up. You ask him again, “Why weren’t you ready for me?”  
  
“Because….” His answer is half-hearted because he’s distracted—by the attention you’re paying to his dick and even more so by the activity of your other hand; he’s watching you open the top drawer of your nightstand, take things out, and set them on the bed beside him. He sees something he didn’t know you had.  
  
“Because why?” you ask him even though you know he’s not listening.  
  
“I thought you said we were done talking.”  
  
“We’re about to be done with everything, Justin. You’re wasting my time.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
He’s so hard just standing there in front of you that an elephant could use his dick as a diving board, and he wouldn’t even notice. He pinches your shoulder when he knows he’s going to come, reaches down and stops your hand. “Good boy,” you say quietly, your hand on the back of his leg urging him forward. You lean down beside him as he lies on your bed. “There’s a difference between spanked and being punished, right?" you ask him.  
  
“Yes,” he says, his eyes locked on yours.  
  
“And what’s the difference?”  
  
“Being punished happens no matter what.”  
  
“Now see, that’s what I love about you,” you remind him after you kiss him, “You can take the boy out of the dungeon, but never the dungeon out of the boy.”  
  
He moans when you put your hand between his legs, but again his eyes move to your other hand which is inches away from his face. “I want your bottom to burn tonight,” you tell him, “So we’re going to track your progress.”  
  
“ _Don’t,_ ” he says when you shake the glass thermometer down.  
  
“And I want you to start from zero,” you tell him as you flip open a tube of lube and hand it to him, “Hold this, please.” The second he touches it and realizes that it’s freezing cold, he begins to clue in on what you mean about being punished--his feet can’t reach the floor; his upper body is lying almost flat on the bedspread; his ass is trapped. He has no leverage; you own him. “Squeeze,” you tell him, your hand waiting above the tube and he won’t, so you do it for him, ignoring his recalcitrance, coating your finger. You stick the thermometer head down in the opening of the tube for later. He drops the tube and turns his head, refusing to look at you anymore. “If I were you, I wouldn’t make this any worse,” you warn him as you spread him apart and tease him with your finger, and he fights you at first, but when he feels how quickly everything he heats up, he changes his tune, turns his head back around and says, “ _Don’t,”_ again, very quietly, over and over, and you shake your head, telling him to hold still as you push the thermometer inside him. “You better hold onto it,” you tell him, “Drop it and it’s a whole new day, trust me.”  
  
It’s one of the most intense times he’s ever spent over your knee, afraid to move and charged with the task of deciding when the temperature reads at least ninety eight point six when you remove it. “Check it, please,” he says when he’s had enough the first time. He’s off by less a degree. He gets the pleasure of your ice cold fingers inside him; you get the pleasure of watching him fuck them until they’re gone, replaced by the thermometer again, pushed so that it’s barely visible. You reach underneath him and encircle the base of his dick with your thumb and index finger, squeezing until you get a reaction out of him.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
He holds you, locks you where he wants you and spanks you again, even harder this time. Your heart’s pounding between your legs as the heat starts to radiate up your torso, a wicked echo timing itself to Brian’s hand until he stops because he hears you, “Check it again, please.”  
  
“Much, much better,” he says as he slides the rod out, his hell-fire hot hand pushing you off of his lap and onto the bed. You feel the pressure of his hands pushing your legs apart and then the weight of his body on your lower back, his words whispered at the base of your spine, “Don’t think I’m done with you.”  
  
“ _Please,”_ you beg him, with one hand curling around the edge of the bed and the other reaching back, pushing his head lower. The second he starts to move, your hand follows.  
  
“I like that,” he says, kissing the tips of your fingers as you try to hold yourself open for him. He pushes your hand out of the way and then gifts you with his tongue, a warm soft paradise. His hands fan out to your inner thighs, holding you back as you try to come toward his face, and then he’s on top of you, smelling like you, kissing you, tracing your hairline with his finger. “I hope you feel as sore as you look,” he says, his mouth wet on the back of your neck.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“This is what you want? Every day when I come from work?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“To have to stop what you’re doing and pull your pants down for me?”  
  
“ _Please._ ”  
  
“Feel that?” he asks as he slides his cock between your cheeks.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m gonna come all over you.”  
  
“ _Fuck me._ ”  
  
“No, _all_ over you. I want you to feel it. I want it to stick to you, all over you.”  
  
He soaks your back with the hot truth.  
  
……  
  
…...  
  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
The room is dark in so many ways after that.  
  
“And now it’s your turn,” he says, the weight of his body disappearing. His hands grip your hips and pull you back and up your knees. He makes you put your head down, makes you watch him slick the glass dildo that lives on your side of the bed—the ones that’s bigger than he is—with artic lube. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” he asks when he’s kneeling behind you again.  
  
“ _Oh god, don’t, don’t…”_ The cold, hard pressure hurts…and then it’s gone. “ _Fuck.”_  
  
“Aren’t you?”  
  
Your spanking resumes; it’s doubled in intensity, and your ass is empty and cold and when you start to migrate away from him, unable to stop yourself because the cold and the hot and the dark and the pain are all mixed up, a tug of war begins. He wins every time, stopping your spanking when he has to pull you back to him; you have to watch your fingers scrape along the top of the bedspread…and he starts again.  
  
And again.  
  
The burn starts to spread throughout your entire body; you can feel it in your shoulders, in your shins, on the back of your neck. The bed feels like a magic carpet, like it’s no longer part of the floor or the room or the house, and then you feel the cold again, and the bed hits the floor.  
  
 _Hard._  
  
The cold, hard pressure hurts…so…good.  
  
And then you find yourself standing on a cliff, the one on the edge of the universe. Your hand covers your face because you don’t want to see anything but darkness as you enjoy the shame of this, of what he’s about to do to you. “You’re a good boy,” he says again as he runs his very re-slicked fingers between your cheeks again, _“Aren’t you?”_  
  
“ _Yes._ ”  
  
“Thank you.” He rewards you by teasing you, barely pressing the cold glass tip of the dildo right where you want it, his fingers holding you open. “Come get it,” he says as he presses a little harder, “I want to watch you swallow it.” Your brain feels like it hit an ice slick; you can’t feel your legs anymore. He presses harder, “Good,” and you feel a sadistic warmth behind your eyes when you take the whole thing, when the cold starts to melt away faster and faster. “You need to come for me,” he says almost sweetly, but there’s nothing sweet about it. At all.  
  
There's a ferocity behind his request and the pressure he puts you under to perform for him...emotionally and physically.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
He comes unglued when it’s over, trembling while you’re fucking him, while you’re making quick work of it because his bottom is so hot and tight, his body bucking underneath you, a reflex because he’s been in pain too long. You can’t get that sound out of your head, the one of him telling you to stop because it hurts to much, “ _Please, please stop, please.”_ Your fingers rip through his hair as you start to unload inside him.  
  
He asks you for a cigarette when it's over.  
  
You tell him he needs to wait a couple of minutes because you can’t remember how to smoke.  
  
He draws a heart on the bedspread with his index finger.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 _twenty-three minutes later_  
  
You wake up from some weird dream and find yourself stuck to him with a potent mixture of sweat, cum, and lust. He wakes up when you’re no longer on top of him, confused like he can’t find you. “You’re okay?” you ask him once you get him situated on your bed like he’s supposed to be, and he mumbles some affirmative answer, his body curling into yours as he floats in his half-awake/half-asleep state, which basically just means that he purrs when you touch him and snores when you don’t.  
  
“You make me ache,” he says when you pull him into your arms, and you think he’s done with that sentence, but he’s not, “Like a whore.”  
  
You laugh because he’s so goofy when he’s not really awake, “Well, I’m happy to inform you that at this point and time, that’s still a free service.”  
  
“Thank god, because whatever deal I’m getting, I know damn well I can’t afford.”  
  
…….  
  
“So do you feel like you belong to me?” you ask him. He smiles as you push the hair on his forehead out of the way so your lips can take its place. “Yes,” he says, “Very much so.”  
  
“But I’m going to have to prove it to you again tomorrow?” you ask.  
  
“Yep, I have a very short memory.”  
  
“Well, you might, but I can assure you that your ass doesn’t.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
 _an hour later…_  
  
You awake and the television is on, but you can barely hear it; Brian is awake, sitting up in bed reading a magazine, his body leaning toward the only lamp that’s illuminated on his nightstand. He feels you move and puts it down, his reading glasses folded on top. “You can read,” you say, but he shakes his head, and you feel like you have a hundred eyes on you again, only this time they don’t expect nearly as much from you, merely that you lie still as Brian examines you, searching for damage he’s done—tangible or intangible. “ _Don’t move,_ ” he whispers in your ear as you lay spent in the sheets. You feel a cool breeze as the sheets are pulled back as you’re exposed. You’d complain but it does no good. He’d say that he wants nothing blue on you but your eyes. “The ones I see are from last night,” he tells you referring to the tiny bruises on your ass, “From the paddle.”  
  
“I don’t care, Sherlock Holmes. Would you please quit?”  
  
He gets out of bed, vanishes into the bathroom and returns, turning off the television and the light before getting back into bed. His slippery hands rub lotion down your back and lower still. “Does this hurt?” he asks you, and when you assure him that it doesn’t—even though it does--he presses a little harder. Your world is warm and dark when Brian gets up to wash his hands in the bathroom. You watch his shadowy form come back to bed, smiling as he lays down beside you. “Feel okay?” he asks you.  
  
“Much better than okay.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“I feel very satisfied.”  
  
He feigns shock, “I satisfied _you?_ Where’s my trophy?”  
  
“It’s in the freezer,” you say, and he busts out laughing.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
The next thing you know, you’re waking up and trying to get your eyes to focus on the clock on your dresser. It’s pointless; you can’t read it, so you roll over to ask Brian what time it is, but he’s not there. There’s a light on across the hall where his office is and when you call his name, he appears in your bedroom doorway wearing nothing but an old pair of navy sweat pants and holding a bowl of something in his hand. “What’s that?” you ask him.  
  
“Chinese. I ordered. You want some?”  
  
“Yeah and turn that fucking light off.” He disappears from the doorway, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him. He returns five minutes later with a matching bowl for you. You thank him and begin to sit up in bed, and that’s when you realize that sitting isn’t a really keen thing to be doing at the moment. You abandon that idea and stay on your stomach. “What time is it?” you ask him as you fork your vegetables.  
  
“Nine thirty.”  
  
“God, I’ve been asleep for awhile.”  
  
“Yes, you have.”  
  
You eat about half of what he brought you and hand it back to him, “I’m finished.” He sits it on the night table next to his, and then you watch as he undresses and gets back into bed with you. His hand rests on your shoulder, “I need to fuck you.”  
  
You smile at him, “I hate when you beat around the bush.”  
  
“Don’t say ‘bush’ when I’m hard. I just threw up in my mouth.”  
  
“Well then don’t kiss me, okay?”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
When he wakes up late the following morning, a cloudy Saturday one, his ass is killing him, but he refuses to admit it. A neighbor calls and asks if you’ll come over and help her install a ceiling fan, and you go because Justin’s extremely bitchy when he’s in denial and because if you don’t go, she’ll just keep asking. When you get back it’s almost four in the afternoon; Justin’s buried in bubbles in your bathtub watching a movie.  
  
“Why don’t you just admit that your butt is killing you?” you ask him as you undress so you can join him.  
  
“Why don’t you just admit that you only went over there because her son is home from college, and he’s the hottest fucking thing this town’s ever seen?”  
  
“Present company excluded.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Okay, I admit it.”  
  
He laughs as you slide in behind him, relaxing back against your chest. “You don’t know shit about ceiling fans anyway.” He turns off the television and tosses the remote in the water; it floats away.  
  
“I can read instructions, and I’m tall. That’s all that’s really required.”  
  
“Twenty bucks says she wasn’t wearing a bra, and she came on to you the entire time,” he surmises.  
  
“You should’ve made it a thousand.”  
  
“That stupid bitch.”  
  
“She’s just lonely and horny.”  
  
He smacks the water and the bubbles fly up in the air, “Hello? You’re a fag! And you have a ring on your finger. What the hell does she think I am?”  
  
“A pizza boy that never left?”  
  
“You don’t eat carbs!”  
  
“Unless they come in thirty minutes or less.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
……  
  
It takes awhile, but you finally get him to shut up, turn around and sit down slowly; his head rests on your shoulder once you’re deep inside him. “You don’t have to move,” you offer, “This is fine. I just want to be inside you.” He reaches up and turns off the light over your head. “It hurts, but I like it when it hurts,” he says, his arms wrapped around you, “It’s a nice reminder of what you do to me.”  
  
“You say that, but I still don’t like it,” you remind him.  
  
“I know, but you’re just being a woobie.”  
  
“Whatever. I don’t even know what a ‘woobie’ is.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
When you both tire of the water, you relocate to the bedroom. That’s when you realize that Brian changed the sheets on the bed before he joined you and started the fireplace, turns out he can do household chores at his own house. The day is darkening fast; his hair is cold and wet between your fingers as he blankets you. The debriefing starts, unprompted but not unexpected…  
  
“Tell me,” he begins, looking down at you, his body settling between your legs. His fingers run behind your head. “I want to know everything.”  
  
“You already know.”  
  
He smiles; you can feel it against your neck, “Please tell me anyway.”  
  
“Can we do it the other way?” you ask him, and he feels your hand slip between you, feels you press your erection against his stomach. “Please.”  
  
He sighs and shakes his head at you, “I’ll come too fast.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
He gives in and takes the lead for the time being, “Did you like having your temperature taken?”  
  
“Jesus, now I’m going to come too fast.”  
  
“Answer me.”  
  
“That was your answer.”  
  
“ _Nice and tight for me,”_ Brian whispers in your ear as he pushes inside you.  
  
“What do you want for dinner?” you ask him trying to distract yourself.  
  
“I’m taking you out tonight. You don’t need to worry about that.”  
  
“You are? Where are we going?”  
  
“Wherever your ass wants to go.”  
  
“Are you implying that my ass is hungry?” you want to know.  
  
“Are you implying that it isn’t?”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
You take over because you know he wants you to, and the minute you start, you can feel the pleasure bleeding out from his pores, hear it in the low moan that begins to play as a soundtrack to your words, “I’ll go insane waiting for you to come home from work each day. It’ll be murder.”  
  
“Murder, huh?”  
  
“Death by anticipation.”  
  
“God, don’t stop…you’re ass is so snug when you’re confessing.”  
  
“You do something to me that I don’t think you even understand.”  
  
He stops moving and lays his head on your pillow, “Christ, I almost lost it. Tell me.” Your hands run down his back, applying pressure when he tells you to, “Scratch.” He thanks you as you loan him your fingernails, listening to you, his lips lodged behind your ear. “Ever since the first night I met you, you know how to exploit my desire without exploiting me. That’s all.” Brian’s very still for a few seconds, and then he moves, hovering above you. He comes closer because he’s going to kiss you, but you stop him for second, “That’s how I knew you loved me.”  
  
He almost smiles but he kisses you before he has time, and the rest of the fuck is intensely claustrophobic, the way you’d fuck if you were trapped under a house in three feet of crawl space and couldn’t make a sound. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” he says as he’s about to bring it home for both of you. “What?” you ask.  
  
“That’s how I knew I loved you, too.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
You take him out to dinner that night. He’s quiet in the car, surfing the touch screen for a restaurant he wants, flying through menu after menu, and then he looks at you when you get to a stoplight and says, “I want someplace dark.” You make a U-turn at the light and start driving the other direction. “Where are we going?” he asks you. “Cedar Tree; don’t think you’ve been there.” He starts pulling it upon screen, “It looks nice.” You call them and request a table for two in the back. “They must not be busy tonight,” he says, and you correct him, “No, they don’t need to be; their wine list alone could be collateral for our house.” The woman who answered the phone is holding the door open for you when you pull up, “Good evening, Mr. Kinney, Mr. Taylor.”  
  
“I can’t stand it when people call me ‘Mr. Taylor,’” Justin says as you walk to your table, “It’s so pompous.” “Look around you, Justin. You’re in pompous-ville central right now.” He sits so he’s facing the restaurant; you sit so you’re facing him. You have the better view.  
  
Your waitress is overly attentive; you have water; you have bread; you have wine, and you have her all in the course of ten minutes. You order, and then Justin complains because, “I hate wait-people who think they have to memorize your order instead of writing it down. They just stare at you like a deer in headlights with that psychotic look on their face because they’re trying to do word association with your order so they’ll remember it when they get to the register. That is such a load of crap. One day, they’ll just have scanners and come up and smile and scan our brains.”  
  
“I think you look really hot tonight,” you say.  
  
“You never listen to a damn word I say.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
Your food arrives; you eat, and the more wine he ingests, the more touchy-feely he becomes, and then out of nowhere he asks you, “The paddle we have, is it cedar?” (Clearly, as far as he’s concerned, his ass isn’t done for the evening. His hints are always so subtle.)  
  
“No, it’s not cedar. Do you feel like you’re in a storage chest surrounded by moth balls when I’m spanking you with it?”  
  
“Why are a moth’s balls anyone’s business anyway?”  
  
“Because they’re so big?” you propose. (You’re tempted to send all the wine back at this point and request a refund as it’s clearly rancid.)  
  
“Good point,” he concedes.  
  
“The paddle is walnut,” you tell him.  
  
“Did you buy it because it had the word ‘nut’ in it?”  
  
You try really hard not to bust out laughing as you tell him the truth, “Yes.”  
  
“I figured.”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
Justin tends to talk a little bit too loud (in his old age) when he’s drinking, so when he tells you he has to piss, the whole restaurant knows. You decide to follow him to the bathroom, secretly hoping that he’ll turn around halfway there and ask, **‘Why are you following me? Are we gonna fuck or something?’** You mess with your hair and fiddle with your tie, and when he’s all peed out and comes to the sink to wash his hands, you grab him and kiss him, and then he asks, **“Jesus, do you want me to blow you right now?”** An elderly gentleman who’s on his way in to the restroom backs out immediately. Justin laughs and makes a joke about having a “ **wide stance.** ”  
  
Desert is waiting at the table when you return, and this infuriates Justin because according to him he didn’t technically order desert, he merely indicated that something that the waitress suggested ‘sounded good.’ You order another bottle of wine to shut him up, and lie to Justin, “She asked if it was your birthday.”  
  
“What? What did you say?” he asks you. “I said ‘no,’ but that I was going to spank you anyway.”  
  
“Did you really say that?”  
  
You nod your head, smile, and feed him a piece of cake. “And we’re not leaving until you finish this bottle.”  
  
……  
  
“Do you know that I’m a little drunk?” he asks you a few minutes later, and then he smiles the biggest smile you’ve seen all night and starts laughing.  
  
“I like it when you’re a little drunk.”  
  
“Tell me why and fill my glass back up,” he demands, plopping his wine glass down a little too hard on the table. You perform the second request first.  
  
“Because you’re very easy when you’re drunk.”  
  
“Ohmygod, that’s _so stupid._ I’m always easy.”  
  
“And thirsty,” you point out because somehow he’s now drinking your glass of wine. “Finish your cake; I’ll be right back.”  
  
You’re standing on the other side of the restaurant handing your waitress your credit card deciding it was better to go to her than to have her revisit your table in Justin’s currently deteriorating state, and right as your signing your name, you hear him calling it, **“Brian!”** and you look up, and he’s holding up an empty wine glass like he’s toasting and before you can even answer him, he says, **“I love you!”**  
  
And then the few people left in that corner of the restaurant are all staring at you, and you want to bust out laughing but figure you better answer him first, so you do. **“Hey, Mr. Taylor? I love you, too!”** And he cracks up like he’s never experienced anything so hilarious in his entire life, and when you return to the table to fetch him, he tells you he missed you so much, and on the way out, he tells your waitress that, “It’s okay to write things down; I worked in a diner once, and we wrote things down; you don’t have to pretend you’re a Mensa waitress.”  
  
“Just ignore him,” you tell her, “It’s been a long night.”  
  
“It was nice to drink your ridiculously expensive wine,” he adds. “Because we can afford it.”  
  
“Now, I see why you spank him,” your waitress says. “God, he deserves it.”  
  
And Justin is still talking back to her when you’re in the parking lot and no one is even listening, “He spanks me because he _loves_ me, you—"  
  
“Get in the car, Justin, or your next spanking will not come with a side of numb nuts.” You pull out of the parking lot and look over at him and he’s cracking up. “What the hell is so funny now?”  
  
“You called me ‘Mr. Taylor!’”  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
Getting Justin sloshed in an establishment where people can actually hear one another speak—i.e. not _Babylon_ —is always risky, but the payoff is worth it, and as you pull into the garage, he’s curled into a fetal position in his seat, facing you, with an expression on his face that can only be described as the way one would look if they’d been mauled by a pack of _Care Bears_. “You’re the hottest fucking man on the whole fucking hot fucking planet, Brian,” he says to you, and then he sighs like admitting that just sent endorphins on a fun run through his entire body. When you open his door for him, he looks up at you with this dreamy look on his face. “C’mon,” you say, and you take his hand. He leans on you as you unlock the door to the kitchen, and the door isn’t even all the way closed, and he’s all over you. “This is why I like you drunk,” you tell him as you lean against the island in the kitchen. He stands up on his tip toes and pulls you down so he can whisper in your ear, _“I want to get on my knees right now.”_  
  
You unzip your pants as your hand slides around to the back of his head, “Make it quick.”  
  
He drops with a smile on his face, and you close your eyes, one hand on his face, one hand on your dick, and you control the whole experience, pulling him back, pushing him down, teasing yourself until you can’t stand it, and then you cup the back of his head and fuck his face, so hard he pushes back, and when you're done, he’s kneeling on the floor, wiping his face; you help him up and take him to bed.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*  
Years of fucking Justin when he’s under the influence have taught you to undress him last when he’s inebriated because if you don’t, he’ll be fast asleep by the time you’re ready to go so you get to undress while he lies on your bed watching _The Love Boat_ on _TVLand_ clutching the walnut paddle he wouldn’t stop blathering on about all the way home.  
  
“Isaac and Gopher were totally doing it,” he insists when you pry the paddle out of his hands to undress him, “And the doctor was totally giving them the condom speech at every port they docked at, and they never listened. You can just tell they never listened.”  
  
“That’s very insightful.”  
  
“Mr. and Mrs. Howell are playing ‘shuffle board’ on the lido deck.”  
  
“Wrong show, Sunshine.”  
  
“Where’s the Skipper?”  
  
“On the island.”  
  
“Fantasy Island?”  
  
“Gilligan’s Island. You’re way off.”  
  
“This is hard.”  
  
“Then let’s turn it off before it gets anymore taxing, okay?”  
  
The room goes black as you slide into bed next to him. When you run your hand down his back, he hooks his leg over yours, pressing himself against you even harder. “You haven’t spanked me today,” he says, his reminder hangs in the air. You kiss him on the nose and then the mouth; he moans in response, and then you warn him, “Your ass is going to file a civil suit against you tomorrow.”  
  
“I don’t care,” he says.  
  
“Count to ten, okay?” you ask him, your hand poised for action on his bottom, his arms wrapped appreciatively around your neck.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
You smack his ass once and say, “One,” to get him started; he moans. One the second slap, he says, “One.”  
  
“That was ‘two,’” you point out.  
  
“Three.”  
  
……  
  
His hand meanders from its affectionate position around your neck to a more volatile location between his legs. You spank him again, and he says, “…One,” and you try not to laugh, taking over for him as he fades in and out. He goes back to wrapping himself around you, giving you a rather slurred order, _“Tellmeyoulovemeandreallymeanitwhileyoujerkmeoff.”_  
  
“I love you and really mean it while you jerk me off.”  
  
“ _God, Brian, I’mtootiredrightnow.”_  
  
“I know you are. Why don’t you go to sleep?” you ask him as his hips rock back and forth enjoying your grip. “I am,” he says, and indeed his upper body seems to be. After a couple of minutes of affectionate silence, the rest of him stills, but when you stop touching him because you think he’s out cold, he scolds you, _”Uh,”_ in his own sweet, sophisticated way, so you resume your activities, and he wakes up—sort of. _”Will…you…spank me…tomorrow?”_ he questions your neck.  
  
“I will,” you promise him, “Roll over.”  
  
“ _Why? You’re...gonnafuckme?”_  
  
“I am.”  
  
……  
  
“ _Mmm. ThisisthedesertIordered.  
  
“I’m too…gonna…come…because…I’m…sleepy.”_  
  
“That’s okay.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“ _Is is tomorrow yet?”_  
  
“No.”  
  
“ _Whenisittomorrow?”_  
  
“When I put you across my lap; that’s when it’s tomorrow.”  
  
……  
  
…...  
  
……  
  
“ _Ilovetomorrow.”_  
  
“Not half as much as it loves you.”

_[Story continues with Induction 1,2,&3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018189/chapters/60584629)   
_


	2. Induction-1,2,&3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Justin's BDSM story continues. Induction was originally published on LJ 7/4/2009.

**INDUCTION**  
  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Thanks to the wine he drank the night before, Justin awoke Sunday morning with an ache in his head rather than his ass so you went for a run because they were calling for rain that afternoon. When you returned, he was sitting in the kitchen reading the paper. You drank a little coffee, took a vitamin, and then leaned on the door jamb in between the kitchen and hallway until he looked up from his crossword puzzle. When he did you said, “What’s a six letter word meaning ‘he who better get his pretty ass upstairs?’” He smiled and asked, “Me?”  
  
“You can’t count, Sunshine.”  
  
“Oh, wait, ‘mememe?’”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
Sunday mornings are always about fucking in your relationship which admittedly doesn’t really distinguish them from any other morning, but perception-and the more recent the better--is ninety percent of everything and besides, it’s his job to soap your entire body anytime you want him to, and you wanted it. So as you stood in the shower with Justin that morning, you were happy to see how quickly he got to work when you handed him the bar of soap, how you didn’t have to say a word, how you could just stand there with your head bowed while the hot water pelted your back and enjoy all of the attention you were getting. He was quiet, too—very quiet—which was always a good omen in that particular situation. “I’m done,” he said when his task was completed, and you opened your eyes and looked right into his, two bright blue question marks staring back at you requesting confirmation as you took the soap out of his hand, put your other hand behind his head and pulled him up a little so you could kiss him. His eyes closed immediately; you could feel the incremental relaxation ripple down his body. “That was nice,” you told him when the kiss was over, “You took your time.”  
  
“I don’t even know what time is anymore,” he said, his hand sliding behind your head, “And I don’t care to get reacquainted.”  
  
Sometimes, even after all these years, Justin has an authentic innocence about him that makes your dick believe he’s a virgin again, and the reason your relationship with Justin is never boring is because, quite frankly, you don’t argue with your dick.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
You’ve known Justin for so long and so intimately that you can feel what he’s feeling when he touches you; you can tell that the increasing pressure on the back of your neck means that he’s making plans to surrender sooner rather than later. You walk him a few steps back so he can lean against the wall and then take your time washing every single inch of him. It’s less of a task for you and more of a signal for him, one he really doesn’t need, but you don’t really care because you like reminding him—as you turn him around to face the wall—that he belongs to you and, more importantly, that you’re going to take very good care of him. The soap will disappear at some point; it always does, and he’ll just feel your hands reminding him again. He sits down on the molded seat in the corner when you’re finally done, his arm slipping around your waist and pulling you closer. You adjust the water so that you’re both getting a warm mist and brace yourself, your hands out in front of you at first, planted on the shower walls.  
  
Within less than a minute, your foot is resting on that bench right next to him, your hand has fallen to his face curling beneath his chin; the shower sounds like the inside of a conch shell, a wonderful faraway place. Your thumb pushes on the hinge of his jaw, “Open up for me.” He obeys you just enough to tease you, to taste you, but you don’t care because he knows what he’s doing. This game is no game to him. His head leans to the right just a little, just enough to rest on your thigh and like clockwork, you slide right inside his mouth.  
  
You have a flashback of fucking his face in the backroom of _Babylon_ ages ago, in a dark corner with cinderblock walls behind him, only he was wearing jeans and sneakers and a white t-shirt that said ‘you wish.’ When you close your eyes, you can smell him, see him, the way his eyes always lit up and he’d bounce on his toes every time you pulled him back there. He’s not that boy anymore; well, not as much. He doesn’t have to wonder what you want; he knows. Hell, he’s the one that made you want it.  
  
His hand reaches up, gliding up your stomach, his fingers outstretched and stopping on your chest. There’s an acceptable and momentary pause as you lube them, and when you’re done, everything resumes right where it left off. His hand slips down between your legs and then he makes you stand there while his wet finger passes over a place that really wants its company. “ _Go,_ ” you tell the steam that’s thickened around both of you, and he relaxes his mouth and fills your ass with more than you were expecting. You grab the back of his neck and push yourself all the way down his throat and let your head rest against the shower wall; you hold him there until you can feel him choking on you, that talented little tug in the back of his throat…  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
The towel Brian barely runs down your back after he steers you face down into the sheets feels like a maddening barrier when you just want him to take you. The sheets are sticking to your chest as he lays down on top of you. He’s not moaning; he’s growling. He’s out of his cage. And he’s hasn’t had breakfast.  
  
The freedom you feel when you’re trapped underneath him, when you can’t move, when he overpowers you, it would appear paradoxical to anyone watching from across the room, but you’re helpless in this situation by three of the most beautiful words in the English language: pure, unadulterated choice.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Sometimes it’s insane to want him this much, to know that he’s lying underneath you begging inside his pretty little head. Sometimes you feel like you could annihilate him if you let all of your desire for him loose at once so you toy with yourself, tell yourself that your task is to rein it in and then release it bit by bit, always a few seconds _after_ he just has to have it. You kiss the back of his neck, his wet hair pushed out of the way as you ponder how to accomplish that this time. When you touch his hand, cover it with yours, he says, _“God, I want you.”_ The words start bleeding out, making room for all of the space you’ll occupy inside him. _“Like in the shower,”_ he whispers, “ _But harder…like when you force me.”_  
  
……  
  
……  
  
You run your finger down the side of his face as you gather and tame your thoughts, tucking his hair behind his ear, “You’re always such a good boy, aren’t you?”  
  
“ _Make me a better one.”_  
  
“You need to be careful; that could be a dangerous proposition,” you warn him.  
  
“I don’t want to be careful. I want _you._ ”  
  
……  
  
His eyes are a sea of baby blue gratitude when you snap his collar around his neck.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
If your bedroom was a casino, you might have just doubled down, but all you want is to get hopelessly lost in what Brian’s going to do to you; you want him to drag you kicking and screaming into a dark forest of desire and then leave you there, forcing you to crawl back on your own as you go mad because you think the wind must be Brian’s voice whistling your name. You admit as much when his finger traces the outline of your lips. His breathing is louder than yours; that’s how he sounds right before he completely takes over and within seconds you’re conquered, and he didn’t have to say a thing. His touch is omniscient, possessive and thorough. You feel a warmth flow out of every pore in your skin when his hand is between your legs. You fuck the sheets, and he hums behind your ear, whispering as he slips a finger inside you, “ _Tight boy.”_  
  
“ _More._ ”  
  
He obliges you, pushing his fingers deeper inside you, harder as he confesses, “All I could think about when I was running was coming home to spank you.” Your face is numb; the blood in your body has rushed to where his hand is. He bites your ear lobe like he knows this, “You can’t feel the mattress underneath you anymore, can you?”  
  
“ _It must be here somewhere,”_ you whisper, patting your hand on the sheets.  
  
He laughs, licking the hot skin behind your ear, “Not for long.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
You can barely keep a thought in your head when he’s touching you like this, and he knows it and exploits it, and he’s kissing you right between your shoulder blades as his fingers fuck you and fuck you and fuck you, and you close your eyes and enjoy it. You start to relax, to really relax, to give in to him because it’s so fucking easy and he’s so fucking good, and you sense a shadow coming over you even with your eyes closed, and you can feel his cock bumping up against you as you begin to absorb the weight of his body, and then he’s half on top of you and half beside you, and you feel him breathing, “ _Justin,_ ” and you open your eyes and he’s right there when you come. He smiles and kisses you until you’re in that sleepy place and then he says, “You’re welcome.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You look like you’re in a dream world.”  
  
“That’s because I am.”  
  
A few minutes later, he breathes into your wet hair as his fingers comb through it and then his body moves, shifting slowly, until he’s no longer on top of you at all but lying beside you. One of his hands is a prop for his head and the other is resting on your ass; his eyes travel back and forth from there to your face and back again. You feel oddly exposed.  
  
It’s _delicious._  
  
He kisses you again—gently, slowly, torturing you. Your hips roll up toward his hand, and he pushes them back down. Brian has a way of reminding you that there’s a collar around your neck that never involves actually reminding you that there’s a collar around your neck.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Your morning run wasn’t quite the workout it should’ve been because you were intensely preoccupied by what…or rather whom…you’d left behind. Justin was less than amicable when he woke up but that almost made him more irresistible as he bitched at you, determined to lie there in all of his queeny, spoiled rotten glory and go back to sleep. But now he’s lying next to you surfing an ocean of bliss in his pretty little head thanks to the pleasure you bestowed upon his pretty little ass.  
  
You know a secret about Justin that thanks to your domineering presence in his life few others do and were you were strapped to a lie detector, you’d have to confess that it’s the main reason that first night with him never exactly ended. The casual observer would assume that your age, physical attributes and lifestyle would’ve automatically made you the force to be reckoned with in your relationship, but they’d be wrong, unable to see the sleeper cell you’re married to. After all, how hard was it to pluck a pre-twink off the streets of your fag-friendly neighborhood, take him home and fuck him all night? Not very. But to be the pre-twink who went willingly into that lair and kept up with you all night and the next morning and then forever and ever and ever and ever…? Sometimes you wonder what you got yourself into. Somehow Justin was jail bait in a town where he just also happened to be the sheriff-in-training and once he got you into lockup, he immediately surrendered and gave you the keys.  
  
And a job description.  
  
And when you take on a job, you don’t just go to work.  
  
You buy the company.  
  
And run the hell out of it.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
And now, this morning, there’s a method to your madness as Justin’s always the most malleable after he’s orgasmed. He’s a bit of an odd duck among men, admittedly, as most men will do anything you want _prior_ to orgasm, but since you raised Justin in captivity, he’s not exactly like most men. And that’s fine with you because you’re a man among men yourself.  
  
Thank you very much.  
  
You decide to take him on the ride of his life, to push him out on the end of a diving board because he’s already halfway there in his head, every inch of his skin has gotten warmer since he got off. You keep him close, hovering over his head and shoulders as you broach the subject that’s been coming up between you the last few days, “You know, you’re right; you do need to be spanked every day.” He looks at you with a coy lust for humiliation that disappears as fast as it came. “And pardon the pun, but you’re painfully out of practice.”  
  
“Don’t I know it.”  
  
Your eyebrow goes all the way up before you can stop it. “Well, clearly, that’s the least of your worries.”  
  
Funny, he immediately reconsiders.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
  
Dominating Justin is (naturally) extraordinarily complicated. At first, it’s always about control and pain and humiliation; it’s about taking him somewhere very nefarious, very primitive, and then forcing him to trust you to get him back safely. The further you can take him, the more treacherous the journey becomes, and in return, the more intimate the journey home will be, and that’s what gets you high, what makes you feel closer to him than anything you’ve ever felt. But the longer you love him, the harder it gets to play this game because you always have to play both sides of the court; he’s always the ball up in the air.  
  
It’s no secret that Justin prides himself on being able to take anything that you can dish out, and he’s definitely no wallflower between the sheets regardless of any role he decides to play, but there’s a quiet (yet demanding) acceptance in your bed that you make the rules and as the years have gone by, Justin’s made it very clear that that particular rule better never change. He’s purposely forgotten every safe word you’ve ever given him, and you quit offering one years ago because you were tired of the smirk on his face.  
  
There’s no smirk now.  
  
And while you make the rules, there are some that you both follow that are not negotiable. They’re the ones that make it possible for you to go a little further each time with impunity. He has an eject button; all he has to do is take his collar off and everything stops; no questions asked. He’s never touched it in seventeen years.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Brian has a way of making you feel like you’re the center of attention even when he’s ignoring you. And he’s a master of timing, using it to his advantage, not yours. Like now, when he leaves you alone, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a glass of water and a lot of Valium. You question him, “Why do I have to take these now?” acting inconvenienced when in reality it thrills you that he’s doing this to you. You’re tempted to see if he wants to get high, too, but this isn’t your show to run. He takes the glass away, sets it on the nightstand after you swallow, and then lies back down on top of you, “Because it’s going to be to your advantage to be very relaxed today.” When you give him a quizzical look, he smoothes away the lines forming on your forehead, “I’m going to take very good care of you. That’s all you need to know.” The massage he’s giving your forehead feels really, really good. “Yeah, well, it’s just that you usually drug me when we’re done,” you remind him.  
  
“Don’t worry; I’ll drug you when we’re done, too.”  
  
“Oh, that’s reassuring.”  
  
His elbows rest by on either side of your head. You want him to kiss you, but he asks you a question instead, “Can I give you a piece of advice?”  
  
“Uh…sure.”  
  
“This smart ass thing you’ve got going on, if I were you, I’d scale it back a bit.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
For a brief second, his facial expression looks like you just threw him off of a cruise ship into the Antarctic, but sometimes that’s how the game has to begin. He’s brimming with contrition, but he knows you’ve moved past that, and now he’s trying to keep up because you’re explaining to him that he really is going to be spanked everyday, and he doesn’t like it one bit (which is perfect because he’s not supposed to.)  
  
“I don’t want to go on ‘Maintenance,’” he says, the custom-ordered angst in his voice going straight to your dick.  
  
You reach down between his legs for evidence to the contrary, “Well, your dick does.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be every day.”  
  
“Yeah, um…that’s what Maintenance is. You know that.”  
  
“Brian, please.”  
  
“If memory serves, you asked for this, Sunshine, and there’s no way in hell I’m not going to give you what you want. I couldn’t live with myself.”  
  
“I hate you sometimes.”  
  
“Which is precisely why you need be spanked.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
So the first time you spank him that morning, it’s to remind him what a Maintenance spanking feels like, how quick and unrelenting it is, how there’s no warm up or seduction involved, how it’s nothing but a reminder as to who owns his pretty little ass, and in this particular moment, how painful it’ll be if he does what he’s doing right now ever again—reaching back to try and stop you. There’s nothing he ‘hates’ worse than being spanked with his hands pinned behind his back, except being fucked liked that. A Maintenance spanking is hard and fast and demeaning but a punitive fuck coming right behind it makes it a hundred times worse. He lies on his stomach, defeated when it’s over; you’re sitting up right next to him smoking a cigarette. You offer him one, and he ignores you.  
  
“Oh, so now you’re pissed off,” you point out.  
  
“That really hurt,” he says.  
  
“You’ll get used to it.”  
  
He turns his head back in your direction, practically glares at you, and then lies right to your face, “You know I don’t like to be fucked like that.” _Oh, he lies as sweet as he looks…_  
  
“Well, I guess you’ll keep your hands out of my way next time.”  
  
“Yeah, and that’s why you drugged me,” he says, “To keep me from fighting back.”  
  
You start to laugh; the drugs (and desire) are affecting his brain, not his body, so you clarify things for him, “You can fight back as much as you want. In fact, I’ll even give you extra credit if you don’t come while you’re doing it.”  
  
The _look_ on his face.  
  
But it’s worth it because you want him this part of him back; you want to feel the game he plays with himself before he’ll submit to you; you want to toy with the anxiety he brings; you want to indulge him, fight him, force him, punish him, shame him, break him and be waiting for him when he comes out on the other side because sometimes you just have to call a spade, a spade. You may be hot as hell and have more money than he even wants to understand, but that’s not why he’s in bed with you. He’s in bed with you because you deliver on what you promise…because nothing he needs is ever off the table even when he thinks he doesn’t need it anymore. Justin’s never achieved anything of any significance that wasn’t against the odds. And while you might be pushing him further than he’s gone before, you’re always very aware of the fact that he’s trying to one-up you the entire time. The first time you spoke to Justin, you learned a very valuable piece of information. He’s a stealth little flirt with his own agenda; he’ll seduce the fuck out of you, and the minute you bite, he’ll surrender and let you drag him kicking and screaming to the edge of a steep cliff, but don’t think for one minute that he needs _you_ to push him over the edge. He’s completely fearless; look away for a second, and he’ll tie a rope around his ankle and _yours_ and jump.  
  
So the room stills as he stares at you, darkening as the clouds move in ahead of the rain forecasted for the afternoon. You both turn and look out the window as the wind picks up, trees bowing in response. They respect authority better than he does. You look back at him as the sky opens up and slide down next to him, your cigarette gone. You may be toying with him and teasing him, but that only deepens your obligation to him when he’s walking toward you on an emotional tightrope. You can’t let him get too far away from you when he’s this vulnerable or you’ll lose him. There’d be hell to pay if that happened, a hell you can’t even imagine. Rich you may be, but not when it comes to that kind of money. You’d be homeless in a hot minute.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Brian can come on so strong and so fast that you feel that same rush you felt the night you met him, the same drop in your stomach you felt when you decided to stay and shut his door for the first time, but you haven’t really felt _this_ in months, this erotic fear he fills you with, the isolation he weaves around you. There’s always an endorphin rush that comes with it as it drops you into a dark well. Every time he touches you, every time you feel him breathe, you feel your personal worth evaporating. You feel like an insignificant treasure as you lie on your stomach, like something that only exists when and because he wants it to. He lies beside you and begins an intimate conversation; his face is next right next to yours, his hand on your ass. You stay quiet because your ability to form a coherent thought is disintegrating. “Sore boy, aren’t you?” Brian asks you like it’s your name now. You don’t dare ignore him when he’s like this or lie to him anymore. “Yes.”  
  
His voice lowers again, “You needed that spanking, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” you admit, swallowing hard as his hand slips between your cheeks. “Justin, look at me,” he reminds you because you’re looking elsewhere, down the length of his body at how hard his he is. He scoots in closer to you so you can’t do that anymore, but you can feel it now, so that’s not really helping. “So if we agree that you needed it, then explain to me why you put your hands in my way.” The spell he’s casting is already working. You close your eyes and apologize, “I’m sorry.” His hand leaves your ass so his thumb can brush over your cheekbone because again, you’re not looking at him, “Please don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid.”  
  
You can tell by the tone of his voice and his demeanor that he’s not kidding because he’s being way too nice, and yet you just repeat yourself, “I’m serious. I’m sorry.”  
  
He puts his arm over your shoulders, purposely weighing you down, “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t know what the consequences are when you smart off and then interfere when I’m spanking you? Because if that’s the case, we have _a lot_ more work to do today.”  
  
“No. I know.”  
  
“So ‘sorry’ is a waste of my time, right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
His fingers thread up through your hair, starting at the back of your neck, pushing your head down on the sheets, “And if you know the consequences, then you made a conscious decision to go down this road, didn’t you?”  
  
You feel like your mouth is stuffed full of cotton, “Yes.”  
  
“So apparently that first spanking didn’t exactly do the trick, huh?”  
  
You feel dizzy and hot all of a sudden, “No.”  
  
He leans in a little and kisses you, gentle and sweet and then, “Then I’m the one who should apologize. I’m going to fix that for you.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
……  
  
For some reason you actually say, “Thanks.”  
  
He thinks you’re cute when you’re nervous, “You’re more than welcome.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
……  
  
He tells you he loves you when he blindfolds you.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
“Remember what I said; I’m going to take very good care of you,” he promises you as he rests your head back on the mattress. His voice feels like silk as he tells you the rest of the truth, “And, by the way, _this_ is why I drugged you.” A chill runs all the way down your body yet for some reason, you feel safer like this because you know that the weaker and more compromised he makes you, the more fragile he ultimately treats you. You force yourself to enjoy the drugs coursing through your system and relax.  
  
You lie still, barely breathing so you can hear everything. He’s unlocking the bottom drawer of his nightstand. You know where he keeps the key, and he knows you know, but you don’t ever talk about it. You reach to feel where he is on the bed, find his kneecap and then run your hand down his shin; he’s sitting beside you, one leg bent, the other probably hanging off the bed. You expect him to push your hand away because that’s what he always does, but he picks it up instead and wraps a leather cuff around it. He reaches for your other wrist and performs the same ritual, clipping your wrists together and pushing them over your head. There’s always a rope there to hook them to. And then you feel his hand on your stomach, “Show me that you can reach your collar,” so you pull your hands down and show him that you have enough leeway to take it off, and for the rest of the short conversation his hand moves a little lower. You roll toward his voice as he strokes you; he puts his other hand on your face, “You need to promise me that you’ll take your collar off if we go too far because at some point, that’s going to be your only option.”  
  
“That’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”  
  
You feel his weight shift on the bed, and then he’s right in front of your face, “I really want to devour you right now, so will you please acknowledge what I said and promise me that you’ll take it off if you’re uncomfortable?”  
  
You stick your tongue to see how close he is, just a little bit, and he’s _that_ close. “If you kiss me, I will.”  
  
“I’m not going to kiss you until you promise.”  
  
“I promise. Jesus.”  
  
And then he starts to kiss you, and it’s _perfect_ , but you can’t hold onto him; you can’t keep him there so you just whine when he stops, and he comes right back, and his mouth is right in front of yours…  
  
“ _Brian, please…_ ”  
  
“You’re so sweet when you’re desperate.”  
  
“Please kiss me.”  
  
“I don’t know. I kind of like it when you fuss.” You pull on your cuffs wishing you had enough slack to put your arms around his head, but you don’t. Your feet are free; you consider telling your lower body to throw a temper tantrum, but decide against it for your own good. “If I were you, I’d save your energy,” he tells you and then he finally kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, holding you down when he pulls away, “I’ll be right back, and you look beautiful.”  
  
“So do you,” you admit from beneath your blindfold.  
  
He smacks your stomach, laughing, “Shut up.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
“We’re going to do this every Sunday until Maintenance is over,” you tell him as you warm the shaving cream in your hands, and he doesn’t dare ask when that will be because his track record has been less than stellar today. He seems calm enough from your vantage point between his legs, his ass resting on a fluffy towel. You touch his abdomen and smooth your hands down and out and he arches his back, “Oh my god, it tingles.”  
  
“It shouldn’t. There’s nothing tingly in it.”  
  
“There’s not?”  
  
“No. I’m not quite that sadistic.” He laughs nervously and you watch his stomach muscles flutter and then tell him that he needs to be still. The room fills with a tactile silence as you tap, tap, tap the razor against the plastic tumbler of water in your hand out of habit, and he moans…out of habit. “ _Shh,_ ” you tell him, “When you moan, you move.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
You watch the blade erase his pleasure trail as goose bumps form all over him. You stop for a second because you know he’s going to move; he apologizes again. It’s a painfully slow, very quiet process allowing you to concentrate on every place you want to touch while he tries like hell to lay perfectly still. You stay quiet (but flattered) when his cock beads, while his fingers twist around the rope while he keeps the rest of his body still and whispers your name. When you’re halfway through, he feels your hands move to his left side, and you hear your name again, only it’s not a whisper anyone. “You okay?” you ask him.  
  
“Yeah…I’m good.”  
  
“What’s going on in your blond little brain?” you ask him. There’s always a catch-22 when you blindfold him; his imagination takes off, sometimes without you.  
  
“A lot of really, really bad things,” he says.  
  
“Do they involve me?” you ask, a little laughter in your voice.  
  
“They always involve you.”  
  
“I’m listening,” you tell him as you finish shaving him, clean him up, and survey the beautiful work you did. You prop your body on top of his and kiss him. He responds so much differently when he can’t see you or touch you; he follows you physically as far as he can go, his face rising up off the bed. “Start talking,” you urge him as you push him back down.  
  
“God, you feel so good,” he gushes when he can feel you again. You reach up and pry his fingers off the rope and unhook his hands from their position over his head, and he immediately thanks you, hanging his cuffed hands around your neck and tying his legs around you to keep you right where you are. You kiss him and he settles down. Being blindfolded always gives him a jolt of courage that you love to exploit. “I’m listening,” you remind him.  
  
And so he begins, “I want to know what happens…if you’re serious….”  
  
“About spanking you every night?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m very serious,” you assure him.  
  
“So, how? I mean, what’s going to happen?”  
  
You touch his lips with your fingertip, kiss the tip of his nose. “You really don’t need that information do you? Just know that I’m going to spank you every night right when I get from work—"  
  
“Just weeknights?” He’s so nosy, “Okay, yes, just weeknights, and you need to be waiting for me with your collar in hand.” He tries to ask you another question, but you stop him, putting a finger over his mouth, “Don’t ask me anything else. That’s all you need to know right now,” and then you introduce him to the real reason he’s not going to ask you any more questions, “Open your mouth.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
There’s more than a tense moment between you when he realizes what you’re doing because you’ve never gagged him before, not like this with a real ball gag, an obnoxious red one at that. It’s a thrill you’ll enjoy by yourself because he has no clue what color it is or that he looks like any horny bottom in a fetish film. He fights you at first, turning his head away, but when you talk to him about it, when you tell him…  
  
“I like you like this, all pretty and helpless, when you have to concentrate on breathing when you want to be concentrating on something else.” You kiss him even though he can’t kiss you back, running your tongue over his lips and the ball just to feel him try. “You try so hard to be a good boy, don't you?" you ask him, and he nods like he's glad you noticed, but you weren't done, "But is it because you want to make me happy or because it gets you what you want?" Suddenly, he finds the gag extremely convenient...and so do you; for once, he can't talk back.  
  
He struggles with the device which is dick-hardening because he’s starts to drool, and Christ, that’s beautiful. You stay with him while he practices breathing with it, kissing his face, his neck, running your fingers all over the place and keeping him close to you while you continue your one-sided conversation, " _Because I'll bet every dime we have in the bank that you'll do anything I ask of you if you think your privileged little ass will be stuffed full and pounded when it's over. Am I right?_ " His head is cradled in your hands when he nods, and you feel another wave of invisibility come over you. “ _Feel how fucking hard you make me?”_ you ask him, your hips bearing down hard between his legs. He moans, beautifully muffled. You reach back and slap him so he loosens his legs and lets you go, moaning as you kiss your way down his neck, chest, stomach, and then stop at his beautiful, bare, hard cock. He seems so innocent all of a sudden, so innocent and blond and sweet and tied up and clean, so seemingly undeserving of what you’re about to do to him.

**INDUCTION-PART 2  
  
BRIAN’S POV**  
  
The room gets nice and quiet as you slip inside the moment with him, as you say nothing while his knees bend next to your head. You don’t stop him when he tilts his hips so his cock can slide right in your mouth, his feet pressing on the sheets for leverage. You glance up; your eyes skimming up his torso, over his compromised face and see his hands clutching the bed frame over his head. You realize how much you miss hearing his voice, how badly you want him to talk just so you can tell him to be quiet. He moans at the same time as if the very same thing is frustrating him, but you let him enjoy fucking your face for awhile. There’s something so satisfying about feeling his thighs tighten around your shoulders.  
  
Eventually, you work your way back up to his face, and you can feel how anxious he his so you pry his fingers off of the headboard; he wraps his legs around you in gratitude for your return. His face is wet; you wipe it dry with the back of your hand. “This is harder than I thought it would be,” you tell him, feeling his body relax a little underneath you at the sound of your voice. Your hands slide underneath his shoulders as you continue, “I never really thought about how much I need to hear your voice.” One of his legs unwinds and extends down the back of your leg in agreement. You hold him close as you remind him for the last time that he has an eject button; he can pull his collar off and stop what’s about to happen at any time, and he kicks the back of your leg, an admonishment; he’s not interested in that idea. You’re not interested in being kicked, and he gets that message when you reach back and pop him hard. “You like to learn everything the hard way, don’t you?”  
  
…..  
  
…..  
  
“ _I know you’re nervous. I want you nervous,_ ” you tell him as you kiss the sweet, warm place behind his ear, “ _You can open that ring, let your hands down.”_ He works quickly, surprised that you’re giving him any power at all; your eyes shift upward, watching his fingers feel for and loosen the D-ring that’s keeping his cuffed hands over his head. The second he’s freed them, he hangs them around your neck. The victory is fleeting for him but worth it until he realizes that you only let him do that because it’s time to roll over.  
  
He doesn’t exactly go willingly.  
  
He’s not supposed to.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
You want to scream at Brian because you’ve waited so long for this, hit him, no, fucking _strangle_ him for being capable of this and holding out on you, for making you doubt that he could…  
  
You picture what the two of you must look like, what Brian must look like doing this to you; your hearts swells so much that you choke on it. Your skin feels brand new and guilty and every time he touches you; his hand slides down your crack and then he asks you, “Do you want your bottom plugged?” You nod in the sheets. He disappears for a second and then returns, kneeling between your legs. He touches you again; his hand is wet; his voice is eerily calm, “Up…on your knees…”  
  
He doesn’t help you; he lets you struggle; you can’t close your legs because he’s between them. You feel the plug in his hand as it runs up the inside of your leg. And then you feel him, his mouth hot, licking you, and your eyes roll back in your head.  
  
“ _Don’t_ come,” he warns you when you finally feel the plug in place of his tongue. He goes so slow that you push back into it; he stops and spanks the inside of your leg until you mumble behind your gag that you’re sorry but you’re so aroused by then that you come anyway as he fills you. He spanks you hard for the infraction, making sure that he smacks the plug every single time. He doesn’t stop until he realizes that you’re crying.  
  
You feel the gag snap loose; your knees slide out from under you.  
  
“You’ll pass out,” he says meaning that’s why he took the gag off. He pulls you back against him and presses himself against your ass. “ _Please fuck me,_ you whisper but he tells you, “No, don’t ask me for something you don’t deserve.”  
  
Desire infects you like a fever and leaves you paralyzed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
A few minutes later, he stops holding you…and even being in bed with you.  
  
You need to apologize for something, but you can’t. You feel flushed and dizzy and scared.  
  
……  
  
You hear him in the closet.  
  
He’s getting dressed.  
  
……  
  
Your heart starts to pound as you try to think of something to say, a way to express what you’re not supposed to be expressing, but then he’s back, sitting on the bed. You’re brave enough to try to slide your body close enough to touch him. He’s wearing jeans. He touches you, and you’re disgustingly grateful for the attention.  
  
“Open your mouth,” he says, putting the gag back on. You listen as he opens a drawer, seconds pass and then you feel rope being wrapped around your ankle. “I’ll be back in less than an hour,” he says, “And you better be right where I’m leaving you.” You start to object, to grunt at him, but you don’t want to get in any more trouble…  
  
But he’s leaving you….  
  
……  
  
……  
  
You’re not okay with this.  
  
……  
  
_At all._  
  
…….  
  
……  
  
And he knows it, so he sits there and goes _nowhere_ and says _nothing_.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
Several minutes of silence pass between you only they don’t feel like silence to you; they feel like backtracking desperation; your mind is racing, and it doesn’t stop until Brian stops it. His fingers now in your hair, “You really think I’d leave you here, bound, blindfolded and gagged, and pathologically aroused?” He leans down and puts his face right in front of yours and continues, “Especially when I smell like your ass?” And then he kisses you like the gag is always there, like he’s kissed you that way a million times. “You know better than that,” he scolds you.  
  
The silence returns.  
  
You use up all of your energy trying to stop the tears from coming back, but you can’t. His hand rests on your shoulder while he talks, “I’m almost convinced that you’re sorry.” You nod your head because you are sorry…you’re just not sure of what exactly. “I’m not leaving the house,” he says, and he puts the phone right on the bed next to you and makes sure you can feel it. “Just press the intercom button if you need me. If I hear the speaker click, I’ll come back up here right away.”  
  
He promises you he won’t be more than fifteen minutes and then he walks out of your bedroom and shuts the door behind him. You can’t decide if what you think are his footsteps is actually your heartbeat.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
That Sunday morning, four days after Justin made your lack of attention to this sector of your relationship a four alarm fire, you start finding your way back to him in the strangest of ways, by forcing him to submit to you so you can be with the Justin you met that very first night, the one that was hopelessly honest because he couldn’t think of a reason not to be. You open the door to the basement with a set of keys in your hand.  
  
Justin’s insistence that this part of your relationship needs routine attention is well-founded, but sometimes your avoidance of it is intentional. You open the wine cellar, walk to the back, remove an empty rack, and unlock a door that Justin doesn’t even know exists—although you know that his petulant behavior of late isn’t for naught. He knows you’ve been up to something; he just can’t quite figure out what. He’s about to find out.  
  
Your footsteps echo inside as you walk to the phone and make sure it’s working. The room isn’t completely finished; it was supposed to be his Christmas present two years ago and then last year and now this year, but you found it difficult to make every decision without him, so you finally resigned yourself to furnishing his soon-to-be dungeon with the things that mattered to _you_ …for now.  
  
The floor is a matte black linoleum with a drain in the middle. The walls are a dark gray. There are black iron hooks along the wall for every little thing you’ve ever wanted to have in your hand when you’re spanking him and almost every hook is occupied. There’s a built in fireplace that you turn on the minute you walk in, and a dresser on top of which three white candles and a box of matches are sitting. There’s a closet with a shelving unit, and on the right side, his side, there’s a stack of white t-shirts and a stack of light gray pants, the only clothes he’s allowed to wear in the house when you’re done with him—and a drawer of brand new white socks. Your side of the closet has a few shirts and sweatpants and a locked cabinet secured by a combination lock. It hides the only working clock in the room and the remote controls for the huge flat screen television and stereo system. You open the door to the bathroom and unwrap soap for the shower. Gray towels hang there waiting; you flip a switch so they start warming up.  
  
The main bed is against the wall, an ornate wrought iron frame supporting a mattress adorned with black sheets. There are night tables on either side stocked with all of his beloved dildos, paddles, and plugs, most of which he thinks are still in your bedroom. There’s an imposing ugly gray medical table complete with stirrups in the corner accompanied by steel racks on wheels holding enema bags. The cabinet under the medical table is stocked with lube, tubing, nozzles, gloves (short and long), lotion, protein bars, and drugs. There’s a small mini bar and refrigerator next to the medical table where refrigerated drugs, specimen cups (pre-labeled with his name and date of birth), bottled water, liquor, glasses and ice are waiting. In the far corner of the room, there’s a black wingback chair next to a round table, and that’s where you sit and boot the laptop you keep in that room.  
  
He doesn’t know that the security cameras in the house actually work because for years they didn’t, but you kept him busy in the city one day about a year ago and had that fixed and upgraded. There are cameras in the house that he doesn’t even know about, and you’re watching him on one of them right now.  
  
But you don’t watch for long.  
  
He’s still upset. You can’t see his face; he’s propped himself up on his side, but you can see his body jerking…  
  
Your first instinct is to assume that he’s playing you, but then you square that with the fact that he doesn’t know you’re watching him. You close the laptop, and head back upstairs with his new clothes in hand.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
His back is to you when you open the bedroom door; he doesn’t jump; you made sure he could hear you coming. You sit down beside him, his back resting against your thigh. “Don’t,” you tell him as your hand slips around his waist, “I’m here; you’re okay.” His tries to hide the fact that he was crying; you can feel the tension in his body; he lies very still as your hand slides lower. He’s nervous and hard—more or less the way you want him. Eventually, you untie his ankle and ask him to sit up, un-cuffing his hands when he complies. “C’mere,” you say, pulling him against you, your arms wrapped around him. You can tell by the way he responds that he’s afraid to touch you, that being gagged and blindfolded for this long is really starting to fuck with him. “This is too much for you,” you propose, not exactly a question or a statement, just words hanging in the air between you. His hand slips underneath your shirt and fans out across your chest; you hold onto him a little tighter, and he moans and relaxes a little. “I’m as hard as you are,” you tell him, your hand rubbing the inside of his leg, “You know you make me fucking crazy when you get like this.” He tries to pull you down on top of him, but you resist him, putting his clothes in his lap. “You need to get dressed; we’re relocating.” His participation in the task is charmingly reluctant. “You just need to trust me,” you tell him as you help him put his white t-shirt on and then his gray pants. He recognizes the feel; he knows what he has on and that they’re brand new. You cuff his hands back together in front of him.  
  
“I need to take you downstairs, so I’m going to take your blindfold off for the time being.” You slip the black silk off and tuck it in your pocket. His eyes are red and swollen.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
He’s intrigued when you start walking down the stairs, but when you open the door to the basement, the realization that he really doesn’t know what’s going on brings a nervous expression back to his face. At the bottom of the stairs and in front of the entrance to the wine cellar, somewhere he didn’t even think he’d be, you slip his blindfold back on. “Your behavior has made Christmas come early this year,” you tell him as you pull him forward through the wine cellar, turning right toward the back where the door to his new room is halfway open. You urge him forward and inside the room, shutting the door behind you. The room is noticeably warmer than the basement and the wine cellar, and you make him stand against the wall while you go and sit down a few feet away on the bed. “I know that you know that I was up to something,” you tell him, “And I know that you got tired of waiting a long time ago.” He shakes his head _no_ because he’s afraid to say _yes_.  
  
“It’s okay, Justin. I’m not mad about it. You can undo your hands and lose the blindfold.” He works at it slowly, forecasting that this transition isn’t easy for him. You know that; it’s why you let him free himself. When he finally really looks at you, he’s seeking permission to come toward you, to give you the restraints he just removed. You realize quickly that his new surroundings are not a priority for him right now; he took the midnight train to subspace the second he came without your permission. You have enough respect for that train and its desired destination to make sure it keeps running on time.  
  
“You can come over here.” He walks over to you, his hands offering the blindfold and the cuffs. You take them and set them beside you on the bed. You can tell when you touch him that he’s in shock; this was the clearly the _last_ thing he expected to happen today. You unbuckle his gag and have to peel it off his face. “Are you okay?” you ask him, and he licks his lips out of nervousness and nods as your hands slip under the dry hem of his shirt and rest on his waist. “That wasn’t very convincing.”  
  
“I’m trying to catch up,” he says, subtly tucking your hands _inside_ the waistband of his pants. (God, you want to throw him down and fuck him when he does that…)  
  
“What do you mean, ‘Catch up?’”  
  
“Well, the first time you left me alone this morning, I thought you were going to get coffee for both of us, but you left the house and went running in the rain. The second time you left me, well…..” And then he just stops talking, his hands resting on top of your hands.  
  
“Well, what?”  
  
“Nevermind, okay?”  
  
“Nope, not okay.”  
  
“Okay, like you’ve been letting me bitch you out for never cleaning out the garage when clearly you were never intending to clean out the garage. You were working on this.” You laugh and so does he because you (pretended) to bitch about the garage, so he told you (repeatedly) to shut the fuck up about it and clean it up if it bothers you ‘cause he’s tired of hearing it, and well, “Then you opened the door to the basement, and I thought you’d gone bananas, that you had some new fetish about bondage and de-cluttering or something.”  
  
“Like I was going to make you clean it and just watch or something?”  
  
He laughs and his smile lights up the room, “Yeah…well….”  
  
“Want me to tell you a secret?” you ask him.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“I never had any intention of cleaning out the garage.”  
  
“You don’t know how many times I was minutes away from hiring somebody to do it for you.”  
  
You smack him on the ass which accidentally pushes him into you a little, and he steals the moment and kisses you, sneaking in his real agenda, “ _Please take my pants off._ ”  
  
“Oh no, I hired somebody to do that for me.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
“Oh yeah? Who?”  
  
“Well, let’s just say that he’s on retainer if you don’t behave. I don’t think you want some strange man to pull your pants down, do you?”  
  
“I didn’t know we were reminiscing.”  
  
Your eyebrow goes up, “Next time, I’ll give you a heads up. Take your pants off.”  
  
The air around you feels like a thick fog; the way it always does when he’s watching and waiting. He smiles when you push them down, step out of them, and kick them out of the way. His hands wrap around both of your legs right below your ass; he squeezes and says, “Lose the shirt, too.” You peel it off for him and toss it in the direction of your pants. He smiles at you, a really sweet smile, the way he looks at you right before he kisses you or tells you he loves you, and it makes you a little nervous because although you’ve lived in Brian’s heart for years, you never forget how perilous the journey was getting here or how half the time you thought you were hallucinating about the existence of a real destination.  
  
Brian’s ungodly beautiful when he’s calm and controlling, and you don’t know what you did that flipped this switch in him, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to switch it off. If you have to, you’ll live out your remaining years in your uber-high class dungeon and never see anyone else or a freaking paintbrush ever again. It smells so _new_ in here; it must be the leather. _He_ smells new and _dangerous_ , the way he smelled the night you met him. “I don’t even know what to call half the things hanging on that wall, Brian,” and he tells you not to worry, that he doesn’t either. “But you’re the one who _bought_ them.”  
  
“No. No, I didn’t. I registered your ass as a charitable foundation and donations have been pouring in ever since.”  
  
You laugh, “Some people woo their lovers with flowers and chocolate; you woo me with sarcasm.”  
  
“There’s no other way to woo you…unless you count pounding your hungry little ass twice a day.”  
  
“True, that’s a close second.”  
  
“One that just got a lot closer.”  
  
……  
  
“What are you going to do to me?” you ask him; he kisses you and tells you that you don’t need to be nervous, and that the next move is yours. “Mine?” you question, and he nods his head and says, “If it were up to you right this second, what would you do?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, figure it out,” and then his voice gets softer, “And then go to it.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
You watch him walk away from you, go to the dresser, and pick up one of the white pillar candles on top of it. He sniffs it to make sure it’s the scent he likes, (you don’t make that mistake anymore), picks up the matches next to the trio and lights all three of them. Before he comes back to you, he turns off all the other lights in the room; only the orange glow from the fireplace joins the candles as they try to illuminate things. He comes back and stands between your legs again and asks if what he did was okay, and you tell him, “Of course. You don’t need to ask me that.”  
  
“Is it still my turn?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah, lighting candles doesn’t really count.”  
  
He proceeds cautiously…. It fascinates you and helps you relax; you like this side of him. “Honestly, lighting candles is enough for me right now.”  
  
You smile, “That wore you out, huh?”  
  
“Not as much as you do.”  
  
“Are you trying to provoke me?” you ask him.  
  
He leans against you, whispering, “ _Yes,”_ behind your ear.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
“Come on,” you say, standing up and taking his hand. You walk him to the wall lined with floggers, crops, canes, and paddles and stand with your arms wrapped around him. He’s so hard, his cock is pointing toward the objects in question. You stroke him while he decides what he wants you to use. You let him go when you feel him pulling away.  
  
He walks up to the wall and takes down a black leather flogger, looks at you, smiles, and then tosses it on the bed, and then he walks back and takes down both crops hanging on the wall and examines them, finally tossing the larger one on the bed. “I’m done,” he announces, pulling _you_ back to the bed. The scent of the candles is finally hitting your nose as he lays back down in the sheets. He has the flogger in his hand again because it’s brand new, and he adores the smell of the leather. You lie down beside him after undressing and take it away from him. “Close your eyes,” you tell him as you hold his hands over his head.  
  
You explain to him why you built this room while he lays there listening. You tell him that he’s kept you running since the day you met him, that he’s never been completely satisfied. “That’s why you and I are so insatiably attracted to one another. We’re both cut from the same cloth. I need you this way; I don’t ever want to wake up one morning and feel like our sex life has gone into syndication.” He makes a joke about ‘sin-dick-ation’ and you laugh. “I want you to wake up every day of your life and feel like there’s still some pleasure out there that you can’t quite get your hands on.”  
  
“I _do_ ,” he says quietly. “That’s why I want _your_ hands on it.” His eyes are still closed, but he’s not surprised when you kiss him. He takes the flogger out of your hand and directs your hand to his ass, pressing himself against you. _”I want to be perfect for you,”_ he whispers.  
  
“If you get any more perfect, I’ll end up dungeon-fying the whole house.”  
  
His eyes open and look right at you, “ _I want you inside me really badly right now, so you better distract me before I sit on your cock._ ”  
  
“ _Close your eyes._ ”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
He moans when the flogger hits his chest, and then his stomach, and then his cock; the force increasing with new each pass you make down his body. He’s smiling as you flog his thighs, his shins, his feet, and then work your way back up to his shoulders again. His skin is warm and pink when you tell him to roll over. He slips one of his hands out of yours when you start flogging his upper back; it disappears between his legs. You like that because his bottom tilts perfectly while he’s masturbating.  
  
“ _Harder,_ ” he whispers, spreading his legs a little.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
The flogger makes your entire body tingle with pain and attention that you desperately want; feeling the leather strips come down again and again on your lower back is heaven. The longer it goes on, the more you feel like Brian _is_ the flogger itself, and you want it even more. Pleasure burns up inside you like gasoline fire.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
You like this _(a lot_ ), watching him jerk off, and he moans from somewhere you wish you were when you abandon the flogger for the crop. The sting makes him freeze for a second, but now the _swish_ the crop makes before impact makes his hips move faster.  
  
“ _Please let me come like this,”_ he says, and you tell him that he will, “When I tell you to.” Minutes later, you ditch the crop, remove his plug and finish the job with your hand. You work to find the perfect rhythm, the perfect intensity, because he _wants_ this; you wait until your hand is sore and then slip your hot fingers inside him _hard._  
  
Again, his eyes open; he says, “ _Push,_ ” right before you feel his orgasm start. You give in to his demand, whispering, “ _Good boy,_ ” on the back of his neck. You hold him down and spank him through every second of that release.  
  
……  
  
“Don’t move,” you tell him because this is exactly how you want to fuck him, spent and sore, and the heat coming off of his skin….you fear your dick may melt inside him. You won’t let him move when it’s over either; you stay deep inside him and fall asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Your fingers are entwined with his, and you stare at them while you feel him falling asleep. He thinks you like this because he’s inside you, but the truth is, you like it most because of how heavy he feels when he falls asleep, because you want to stay underneath him like this for the rest of your life.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
_3:00 p.m._  
  
He’s hungry, so you bathe him and dress him and take him out to lunch at a quaint, old-timey diner that reminds you of Debbie and your youth. He’s quiet in the car, quiet at lunch, but the entire time, he has an almost dreamy smile on his face. You wait until you’re driving home to talk to him about the morning. You’re stopped at a stoplight when the conversation starts. “Do you like your Christmas present?” you ask him.  
  
He grins, “This is the best not-really-Christmas ever.”  
  
“Hmm, now I’m wondering what you’re going to get me.”  
  
“I already know, and you’re getting it tonight.”  
  
“Really?” You’re intrigued.  
  
He laughs, looking straight ahead, “Yes, _really_.”  
  
“Can I try to guess what it is?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Can I play Twenty Questions?”  
  
“Yes, but you only get one question, so choose wisely.”  
  
“Hmmm….”  
  
“Could you get off that guy’s ass please? You’re following too close,” he complains.  
  
“I’m pre-occupied.”  
  
“I know you are. That’s why I intervened.”  
  
You decide what you’re question is going to be as you’re pulling into the driveway. You hit the button for the garage door and then spring it on him, “Who actually _physically_ paid for my present?”  
  
He turns to you, flicks you on the temple, and says, “You did, I presume. _Or_ , it may have been a charitable contribution. I’m not sure.”  
  
“It’s so nice to get a boner about charities right before Christmas.”  
  
He gets a rather wanton look on his face, “Brian?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“May I please go back to my dungeon now?”  
  
You open his car door, take his hand, and lead the way.

**INDUCTION-PART 3/3  
  
BRIAN’S POV**  
  
_This_ is the reason you’re madly in love with Justin, because when he gets going, there’s no stopping him save a worldwide pandemic or a meteor strike. And when his hot little ‘switch’ is stuck on _on_ , you always know it’s going to be a wonderful holiday. You start singing _O’ Cum All Ye Faithful_ in your head. He pushes you against the wall the second you close the dungeon door behind you and kisses you _hard_. He has one hand wrapped around your neck and the other undoing your pants. His hand in your pants is the best present ever. Somehow he’s gotten the impression that this is his show to run, and he’s so, so wrong. So wrong that you take his hand out of your pants and walk him over to the black chair in the corner. You sit down and point to the floor, “Down.” He kneels down on the floor between your legs. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a misbehaving puppy,” he says. You pat him on the head and smile because, of course, you do. He starts up again, “Let me tell you a story. Once there was this very, very hot, handsome man who had the cutest little puppy anyone had even seen—“

“Does he pee on the carpet?” you ask.

“Only if you tell him to to."

“Continue.”

His hands rest on your denim-clad knees, “So every day, this incredibly handsome man took his puppy for a walk and every day they took the exact same route—“

“This is fascinating.”

“Shut up and listen. Until one day, the puppy saw that a brand new road had been opened, and he pulled his very hot owner in that direction.”

“Does this story have a climax?”

“Do _you_ want to climax at all this afternoon?” he asks you full of contempt. You zip your lip. “The owner was reluctant to go down the new road, but the puppy insisted, so he finally gave in. Turns out, the puppy had found a shortcut which meant that that particular day they could get back home much sooner—“

“So the owner can have sex with the puppy?”

“ _No_ , because the puppy realized that it was about to rain cats and—“

“Puppies?”

He slaps your leg and you apologize so he’ll finish the dumb story, “So on that particular day, letting the puppy take the lead actually saved the owner from being castrated by lightning.”

“Okay, I never saw castration coming. I’ll give you that.”

“It didn’t start out as castration,” he warns you. “I changed it halfway through.”

“Was that before or after the rabbi and a priest walked into a bar?”

“I hate you," he declares.

“Well, lucky for you, I love head-strong puppies.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re a puppy. You’re easily fooled.” He rolls his eyes at you; you put your hand on his face, your fingers propping up his pretty little head. “You know what I love best about puppies?”

“What?”

“When they do this…,” and you pull his head forehead and press it against your crotch. He runs his nose up and down your zipper. You close your eyes, moan, and pet him profusely. His lips run over your balls and your thighs, and you finally stop thinking about puppies and just about him. He pushes your shirt up and kisses your stomach, his mouth trailing the top of your jeans. _Christ, suck me._ His fingertips dip inside your pants. “You’re wet,” he says as he starts to unbutton them. He tugs your zipper down with his teeth, and how your pants disappeared so fast after that…well, that part of your memory is erased. He pushes your legs apart and starts kissing his way down your thigh; you close your eyes and tilt your cock toward his face. He tongues your balls, and you tell him you love him. And then he starts to get crafty…  
  
This is no standard blow job.  
  
“Is this my present?” you ask him because your lips are going numb from lack of blood, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to speak at all in a few seconds. “No,” he says, and he laughs a little, the heat from his breath makes you crazy. “This is just the stocking stuffer,” he says, “If you catch my drift.”  
  
“I’ll catch anything you’re throwing right now. Have at it,” you assure him.  
  
“You have to pay attention,” he warns you.  
  
“I’ll pay till I’m broke.”  
  
He deep throats you and then pulls back and buries his face between your legs. His hand is wet as he strokes you, holding your cock against his face. He reaches up and pushes hard on your hand resting on the back of his head.  
  
He wants you to smother him.  
  
You feel like you might faint, but you do it; you force his face against the base of your dick and cut off his air supply. You can feel the desperation inside him as you push his hand off your cock and take over, jerking off as fast as you can. You let him up when you’re ready to come; his inhalation comes with extra dressing. He’s coughing as you come down his throat, gagging, and all those times spent perfecting his cock-sucking talent over the years pay off big time.  
  
You let him pull you to the bed after he recovers, and you immediately put him across your lap when you get there, jeans and all, and paddle the shit out of him. His eyes get glassy and dark, staring at you when you reach underneath him and undo his jeans; they roll back in his head when you put your hand in his pants. _Christ,_ he’s hard. You hold him like that, feeling him get wet in your hand as you paddle him some more.  
  
“ _Brian, please,"_ he begs because he wants his pants _off._ You let him hold the paddle while you peel them off and when he hands it back you, he warns you, “ _Don’t_ hold back. You’ll wish you didn’t if you do.”  
  
Paddling Justin makes you insane because of the way he moans and begs, and when you pay attention to his inner thighs, he arches his pretty little back even more and starts jerking off. You’ve rarely paddled him for this long or this hard, and you lay the paddle on top of your legs when you feel him start to orgasm. You slip your fingers in his red, hot bottom just so you can feel that perfect squeeze. He comes all over the wood resting on your legs.

You stroke his hair as a tear runs down his face.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
He reacts to the concern on your face when you speak to him, “Christ, you get me so worked up. Are you okay?”

“That’s exactly what I wanted.”

You rub his bottom as he rides the rest of the wave. You like it when he lets the aching vulnerability hit him like a tsunami; you want to consume and shelter him all at the same time. He surprises you when he gets up and straddles you; you wrap your arms around him. “I needed that so I can give you your present,” he says, his head laying on your shoulder. You don’t want anything from him but this; this is perfection, but he has something up his sleeve. His hand runs up into the back of your hair, “Will you close your eyes for me?” You close them willingly as a peaceful warmth floods your body. He loosens your arms and gets up…out of bed. You want to ask questions, but you don’t. You just listen and wait. It is Christmas, after all.

He’s gone just a few seconds, and when he’s back, he tells you to please lie down, and then he’s sitting on you again; his ass toasting your stomach. “You can open your eyes,” he says. When you do, you see him smiling at you with a very hot leather gag dangling from his fingers. This isn’t one of the ball gags, rather it has a long black leather dildo protruding from it. “Merry Christmas,” he says before immediately strapping the gag on your face. There’s a short plug that fills your mouth, and you raise your head so he fasten the device. He pulls it as tight as he can get it. You wonder if he can tell you’re smiling.  
  
He turns around and positions himself over you on all fours, making wonderful sounds when you spank him again for good measure and then pull his bottom toward the dildo. You make him come to you, and it’s sweet and slow and the most fucking beautiful site you’ve ever seen coming toward you. The longer it’s inside him, the easier he can move, and _holy baby jesus_ , this is the hottest fucking thing you have ever done in your life, watching his aching, tight ass fuck your face; you make him pull all the way out because seeing his bottom take it over and over and over has you screaming inside. The scent on every stroke…  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
You take over because you don’t want him to be able to breathe comfortably, and you can tell he’s starting to struggle just like you want him to. Each time you sit down on the hard protrusion, you stay down a little longer. His hands squeeze your thighs harder and harder. When you rise back up, you can hear him trying to catch his encumbered breath. His knees point to the ceiling, giving you something to hold onto. You bend down, eventually, and take him in your mouth, smothering him as you suck him off. His entire body spasms when he comes. He’s panting when you pull out, turn around, and release the gag. You’ve never seen him so blissfully out of it. You lie down beside him, and he rests his head on your chest. “Still feel like we’re never completely satisfied?” you ask him.  
  
“Withdrawn,” he says.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Brian.”  
  
“I would like this gift for all holidays, please.”  
  
“So noted.”  
  
“You’re the best puppy I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, I always find the bone, don’t I?”  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
**BRIAN’S POV**

It’s midnight by the time the two of you are back in your bed. You spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies in your home theater. They were mostly your kind of movies so he slept a lot, often sprawled across your lap. You ordered Chinese food for dinner; he ate most of it, as usual. You make love to him on his stomach, very slowly, so he’ll fall asleep and stay asleep. You have a harder time dozing off. Maintenance starts tomorrow night, and you can’t wait.

/end

_The purpose of this series was to serve as a launching pad for very short Maintenance updates. I want to experiment with this type of writing for the sake of my muse and my fictional sanity. So, stay tuned for that…_


	3. Maintenance 1-10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now the writing experience of Maintenance begins. My goal was & is to free my muse a little by writing short updates. I will sometimes switch from first to second person. I just need a mechanism to give myself a little breathing and experimental room. There are 53 chapters of Maintenance and then Negotiations begins. Negotiations is ongoing. Maintenance began 3/11/2010.

**~♥~MAINTENANCE 1-10~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 1**

**BRIAN'S POV  
**  
Your drive to work Monday morning is consumed with thoughts of coming home that night until you get to work and have to deal with the fact that it _is_ a Monday morning. By nine-thirty, you're immersed in phone calls and meetings. Your second cup of coffee cools to stone cold on your desk. Your eleven-thirty client cancels, and you're looking forward to a little peace and quiet when your phone buzzes. "What Cynthia?"  
  
She waits a beat before she answers, "Justin is here."  
  
"He is?"  
  
"I am," he says from the doorway.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 2  
**

**BRIAN'S POV**  
  
"To what do I owe this surprise?" you ask, and he answers almost before you've finished asking. "Wanna go have lunch? At the loft?" You glance at your watch; you really don't have time to do this, but there's something about his demeanor that makes you reluctant to say no, so you smile and get up. You tell Cynthia you'll be back in awhile and walk out a few steps behind him. You make sure that you're there to open the door for him...every door. He's a bit overdressed for a lunch date at the loft so you inquire as you start the car, "What do you want to eat?"  
  
"I don't really care, not that hungry."  
  
You pull your phone out and text Cynthia, _'PLZ GET FOOD 4 ME IF U GO OUT.'_ '  
  
"What are you doing?" he asks.  
  
"I forgot to tell Cynthia something. You just wanna go to the loft?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
~*~*~  
He stands a few feet away from you in the elevator. Your phone buzzes and you look down at the screen, _'JUST U?'_ You text Cynthia back, _'Y.'_ You enter the loft, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and sit down on the sofa. He sits down beside you, borrows a sip of your water and places the bottle on your coffee table. You smile at him and put your arm around his shoulder. He turns his body toward you and starts to unravel your tie. You stop his hand, his face is just a few inches from yours when you ask, "Is everything okay?"  
  
"It is now," he says.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 3**

**BRIAN'S POV  
  
** You knew there'd come a time when you had to set him straight; you just had no idea it would happen so fucking soon. He's perched on your lap with his pants unzipped and his cock refreshingly free since he's not wearing underwear. And that's when you tell him, "I think you have the wrong impression."  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Put your dick away so I know you can actually listen." He zips up his pants with an unhappy expression that under normal circumstances, you'd wonder what you could buy him to make it go away, but not this time. This time will be different. This time you tell him, "'Maintenance' doesn't mean ' _High_ Maintenance.'" His eyes narrow. "I'm taking you back to the office. You need to go home or go run errands or something, not show up at my office without permission."  
  
"I don't need permission to show up," he argues.  
  
You put your hand on his face, "Yes, you do, and I don't have time to argue with you today. You can either go home or stay here by yourself. I'm going back to work." A blank look spreads across his face. "Which is it? Which do you want?" you ask.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" he asks, thinking it's his way back to pleasing you.  
  
"I don't give a shit either way. Make a decision."  
  
He makes one reluctantly, "I'll go home."  
  
You refasten your tie and walk with him back to your car. He doesn't say a word to you all the way back. When he goes to get out of the car without even telling you goodbye, you grab his wrist and pull him back, "You know better, Justin."  
  
"Apparently, I don't."  
  
You try to kiss him but he turns his head so you end up kissing his ear. It's burning up. "You're very irresistible when you're being a cunt, you know?"  
  
"Anything to make you happy."  
  
You turn his face so you're eye-to-eye with him, "This has nothing to do with my happiness. It has everything to do with yours, and you know it." He smiles because it's true. "Now, go. I'll see you tonight." His tastes so guilty when you kiss him...

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 4**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** By the time Justin got home that afternoon, you'd texted him to check his email. In his email were a few instructions:  
  
 _You're to have dinner ready for me when I get home about 5:30. You need to have already eaten, showered, and dressed in the appropriate attire by 5:00. I want your half of the kitchen table completely cleared off. I expect you to meet me at the door._  
  
He didn't respond. You jerked off in your private bathroom.  
  
~*~*~*~  
He was waiting for you at five thirty just like you asked. He was dressed in brand new gray cotton pants and a brand new white t-shirt; his feet were bare and undoubtedly cold. Your dinner was waiting just like you requested. It was a salad and a glass of wine. He took your briefcase, set it down in the foyer and came right back. You hugged him and ran your fingers through his hair; he smelled wonderful.  
  
His end of the table was completely cleared off. You released him and urged him in that direction. You raised your eyebrow, and he turned and bent over the table for you. You sat down in a chair and slid one arm underneath his chest, holding him still while you pulled his pants down. He kicked them across the kitchen floor. His fingers dug into your arm when he saw you reach and pull a wooden spoon out of a crock on the island behind your head.  
  
The episode lasted much longer than he expected.  
  
He turned and looked away from you when you let go of him and let your hand wander below the table to feel how hard he was. "Do you want to come?" you asked him, and he nodded, still staring into the laundry room. "Go sit in the corner and face the wall," you told him, "On your knees." After retrieving a shot glass from the cabinet, you walked over to him, bent down and put the glass on the floor in front of him. Then you went and sat down to enjoy your dinner, the wine, and the sight of his red bottom perched on his bare feet. His knees spread and he leaned his forehead against the wall while he masturbated for you.  
  
"Done?" you asked him when you knew he was.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then come here."  
  
He got up and walked over to you sitting his cum-filled glass on the table. You pushed your chair back and extended your arm so he'd sit in your lap. You finished your meal with his head on your shoulder. _"I missed you today,"_ he whispered.  
  
"It was bad, huh?"  
  
"Terrible."  
  
"You think tomorrow will be better?" you asked him.  
  
He sighed, "No way."  
  
When dinner was done and cleaned up, there was no talk about what to do next. You adjourned to your bedroom, the house bathed in darkness soon after. He rode you forever; you fell asleep underneath him. The following morning, you kept to your routine. You got up and got in the shower; he got coffee and brought it upstairs for you. You got dressed, and he blew you in your office. He got back into bed where you kissed him good-bye. On your way through the kitchen to the garage, you stopped to put your mug in the sink and to notice that there was a red ribbon tied in a bow around the wooden spoons.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 5  
**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** The truth about this--Justin's attraction to this aspect for your intimate life--whether it was about pain or pleasure or control or something else.... Well, you knew this Maintenance routine would ultimately flesh it out. By Tuesday night, he had plenty of tangible and intangible proof that you loved him and that you'd do anything to make sure he knew it, but it was Friday night now, time to turn up the volume a bit.  
  
Upon walking in the door, he was there just like he was supposed to be, dressed just like he was supposed to be, and very happy when you kissed him, pushing him against the wall right next to the cellar door. "Did you miss me?" you asked him. "Horribly," he replied. "Did you already eat?" you asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
“Good. Put my dinner in the fridge and go sit in the corner.” You’d had a late lunch on purpose.  
  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
You had no idea what to expect that Friday night, but the last thing you anticipated was that Brian would leave you in the corner in the kitchen and disappear downstairs. He’d never exactly said you could be down there by yourself, and you were fairly sure he didn’t know that you’d found an extra key—“  
  
“Justin! Get down here!”  
  
Until now.  
  
You got up and ran down the stairs, forgetting to shut the door to the basement behind you so you ran back up, slammed it shut, and scurried back down again as fast as you could. When you walked into the dungeon, he was just standing there, his arms folded over his shirt, a grim look on his face. He was glaring at the fourteen specimen bottles you’d stacked like a pyramid on the night stand. He had you so scared you got back down on your knees, put your hands behind your back, and stared at the floor. “What the fuck is this?” he asked you.  
  
There were many ways you could answer that, but you decided to go for the cold, hard truth, “I’ve been masturbating down here…all week.”  
  
He almost smiled, “I see.”  
  
“I figured that’s what the containers were for…I’m sorry.”  
  
He started picking them up and reading them. You’d marked them all with the time and date. He seemed particularly interested in the ones on the top—the ones from today. “You’ve been keeping yourself pretty busy, I see,” he said.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I think that’s kind of sweet.”  
  
“You do? I mean…I hoped you would.”  
  
“What else were you hoping?” he asked you, looking at you. You didn’t answer him right away, and he saw why, “You’re blushing.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I want you to answer me.”  
  
“I don’t want to answer you.”  
  
“Clearly.”  
  
“Please don’t make me.”  
  
He kneels down on the floor right in front of you and pushed your knees open. You fell against him, and he didn’t push you away. Instead, he held you, his fingers drifting through your hair. He smelled so fucking good; you wanted to jump him, but you kept your hands folded behind your back. “Part of me thinks I should punish you for being down here without my permission,” he said, “And part of me thinks I shouldn’t because that was a very sweet pyramid you built for me.”  
  
“I want you to hurt me," you whispered before the words had even registered in your mind.  
  
He laughed a little and held you a little tighter, “I believe you,” and then he reached down and touched your cock tenting your pants, “You’re soaking wet. Can you feel that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m going to get up and go sit on the bed. You’re going to get up and take your pants off and walk over to me.” And then he was up and gone and waiting for you. You walked over to him with your cock leading the way.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 6**

**JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
You’ve wanted this all week; Brian's undivided attention down here in your new room. Sometimes his undivided attention gets a little too intense, though, and you start thinking that division isn’t always a bad thing. But Brian, well, he always knows when you’ve started ‘thinking’ and usually puts a stop to it.  
  
“So basically, you’re telling me that while I’m at work slaving away to pay for this room, no pun intended, you’re spending your days down here jerking off into jars and saving them for posterity?”  
  
You have a very difficult time lying to Brian, so you usually don’t. “Correct.”  
  
“Do you think that’s fair?”  
  
“Probably not,” you admitted. You wanted him to touch you, but he seemed uninterested in your stubborn erection.  
  
“Did you do anything this week? Did you even pick up a paintbrush?” he asked.  
  
Now you were embarrassed, “No.”  
  
He shook his head at you, “Justin. I want to ignite your creative energy, not stifle it. Maybe you shouldn’t come down—"  
  
“No. I need to be down here.”  
  
“Why?” He held his hands up and your fingers wound through his, beginning a coy game of tug-o-war, a slick smile on his face, the kind that would make your pants evaporate if they were actually still part of the equation. “Because—,” you tried, and then your brain just shut off like you’d used up your quota of knowledge for the day. Brian raised his eyebrows at you waiting….  
  
“Are all your thoughts in your cock?” he asked. You nodded. “Want me to help you get them out?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
He pushed you down on your knees, and your mouth started to get dry at exactly the wrong moment. His zipper went down and you sat up a little, smiling when his dick was ready for you. You sucked it like it was the last cock any man would ever suck. Ever. And he appreciated it; you can tell when you make him happy; he gets a look on his face like he wants to buy you a diamond-studded Ferrari or something but he knows you won’t accept it because you only want… _him_.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 7  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
“See, here’s the thing,” Brian told you, though admittedly you weren’t at all prepared for the information he was about to bestow on you, “This room is outfitted with a state-of-the-art surveillance system; you know, one of those where you can log in remotely and see what’s going on anytime you want?” Your mouth started to feel like the Sahara desert again. “So, on Monday, I’m in my office having a hard time concentrating because I can’t stop thinking about driving home and putting you across my lap, and it gets so bad, that I decide to break my own rule, and log in to the system just to stare at the bed and imagine you laying on the black sheets on your stomach just dying for me to walk in to warm you up. Imagine my surprise when I don’t have to _imagine_ it—"  
  
“I’m sorry,” you immediately apologized, and he ignored you.  
  
“Because there you are on your hands and knees with your pretty little ass pointed right at my camera, and you’re jerking off with your eyes closed.”  
  
“Brian, please. I mean it.” Again, he ignored you.  
  
“So then I see you break the seal on a little container you have stashed underneath you, and I watch you watch yourself coming into it. My lunch break went a little longer than usual that day.” You immediately scooted back from him a little and started staring at the floor, horrified when you realized your cock had been dripping the entire time. It left a trail on the floor, one you hid by closing your knees back together.  
  
“Stand up, Jusitn.”  
  
“You’re mad at me,” you protested, staying where you were.  
  
“Stand _up_ , Justin.” You hurried to your feet and kept your head hanging, afraid to make eye contact with him. “Stop acting afraid of me,” he ordered you, so you looked at him, so he could see that, well, you sort of… _were._  
  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
This was all part of the plan; you wanted him to be a little on edge, and he was so on edge, that he got a little upset when you kissed him and told you (with a vulnerability in his voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time) to please stop. “No,” you told him, “I’ll kiss you whenever I want to kiss you.”  
  
“I don’t want you to.”  
  
“You just don’t want to feel any ebb and flow in the shame coursing through your veins, but I do. That’s exactly what I want you to feel.”  
  
“Please just be mad at me or don’t be mad at me. Just pick one.”  
  
“Justin, you don’t give orders down here. I do. I decide how you feel, how much you feel, and when you feel it, and don’t stand there like a fucking statue when I’m kissing you and act like this is news to you.”  
  
“I hate you—“  
  
You slapped him across the face. Hard.  
  
It caught him _completely_ off guard.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 8**  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Justin stood up very straight and looked at you almost defiantly, but you were smart enough to see him trembling beneath his skin, so you stood up as well and pulled him into your arms and kissed him, and that time, he kissed you back; he even moaned a little. “ _That’s much better,_ ” you whispered into his hair. Consciously, he probably didn’t realize that the slap you just gave him was a gift in disguise because you’d turned the heat down very low when you came down to the dungeon that night; the warmth he got from it was starting to pulse through the rest of his body keeping that fact still undiscovered for the moment. You slipped your hands under his t-shirt and pulled it off over his head, tossing it on the floor with his pants. He watched in a trance-like silence as you opened the bottom drawer of your nightstand with your foot revealing several bundles of rope.  
  
The first bundle came undone easily; it was an extremely long piece that you immediately folded in half and wrapped around his neck in a Lark’s knot, the ends of the rope feeding through the folded loop. You ran the pieces down his back, between his cheeks, and then told him, “Spread your legs,” and brought both between them. The pieces separated then, one of either side of his persistent cock; the left side wrapping clockwise around his dick and under his balls; the right side doing the opposite. The remaining lengths ran up his chest and were tucked back through the beginning loop around his neck. It gave you a bit of a leash, and it made him delightfully uncomfortable when you tugged on it. And tugging on it prompted him to apologize.  
  
“Brian…I’m sorry. I don’t hate you.”  
  
You smiled and continued to pull him over to the far post of your bed, “I know that.” You backed him up against the post, split the rope, brought a piece over each shoulder and down his back where you tied his hands together behind the post. If he tried to move away, he was instantly choked…in several places. You leaned against him, unbuttoning the sleeves of your gray shirt and rolling them up. “I like how hard you are, Justin.” He tried to get closer to you, to lay his head against your chest, but it wouldn’t move much. “How’s that rope between your legs?”  
  
“Rough,” he said.  
  
“Just the way you like it, right?”  
  
"Apparently."  
  
"Well, don't worry; I won't let you down."

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 9  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Where did he get the rope? When? There were other questions smashing into each other in your head like bumper cars, but you had to ignore them because he was walking away from you over to the wall where everything was hanging. He pulled a short, black leather flogger down and walked back to you, and then there he was again, leaning against you, breathing on you, touching you…  
  
“You’re going to learn to process pain tonight,” he told you, and before you could respond he added, “A different kind than you’re used to.” You wanted him to kiss you again; suddenly it felt like days since he’d wanted to. “Your safe word is ‘albatross,’ if you need it.”  
  
 _”I need you,”_ you whispered.  
  
He ran his fingers through your hair and held your face in his hand, “That struggle inside you, whatever you were wrestling with down here all week, we’re gonna pull that to the surface and really take a nice, long look at it. Tonight, I’m going to help you drag it out in the open. Of course, if you want, I can just leave you in the corner to do it all by yourself.”  
  
“No. I don’t want to be by myself.”  
  
“A week was long enough, huh?” he asked you.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So, you want my help?”  
  
“Please,” you conceded, confused at how he makes you feel so relieved when you shouldn’t be.  
  
He took two steps back and the flogger rained down all over you. It felt like a hail storm. On steroids. And the look on his face, it was one you'd never drawn before.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 10  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
**Next, he says he wants to talk to you, so you close your eyes and try to concentrate on what he’s saying which isn’t easy because he’s unbuttoning his shirt and pressing against you, trying to steal the heat he just drummed up on your skin. He releases your hands and doesn’t reprimand you when you pull the tail of his shirt out of his pants and run your hands underneath it. His hand is on your face, the side not laying against his chest. “I’m going to mark you tonight,” he says, “So you’ll have something to concentrate on when I’m not here.” You moan, and he whispers, _”You’re a good boy,_ ” into your hair. “You like when I say that to you, don’t you?” he asks.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Is that what you think about when you’re jerking off down here all by yourself?”  
  
“Partly.”  
  
“You feel special…,” he says softly.  
  
“You called me a good boy the night you met me, in the back of your Jeep. You probably don’t remember.”  
  
He laughs a little, “Not really, but I’ll take your word for it.”  
  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Now, he’s lying back on the end of your bed, the long lengths of rope that were tying his hands to the bedpost are now running through rings on the wrist and ankle cuffs he’s wearing. His legs are bent and spread, each wrist attached to each ankle. They fall apart. It chokes him a bit when they do, but he can’t move them; you’ve got him strung up like a spider in a web.  
  
You pull a bench up to the end of the bed and sit down; your hands wrapping around his thighs. You rub your face up and down the inside of his legs, going back and forth over the rope still running up between his legs and twisted around his cock and balls. This is no lily white soft cotton rope. It’s the kind that rubs you raw and leaves dust behind. His fingers reach for you, trying to grasp your shirt, anything to touch you while you’re still close.  
  
You stand up and pick up the cane propped against the end of the bed. You let him feel it, running it up and down his leg just like your face did seconds ago. He tenses up when you push his left thigh down toward the bed. “You’re afraid?” you ask him, and he nods. You put the cane down, reach into your pocket and pull out a tiny pump with a small glass tube. “Pain is a state of mind,” you tell him as you lick the end of the tube and place it over his nipple. His eyes water as you squeeze the ball on the end of the pump; his nipple starts to swell and rise in the tube. You pop the glass tube off and produce a small clamp from your other pocket, staring at him as you open it and then close it on his engorged nipple. _”Process it,_ ” you whisper to him, and then you kiss him; you can feel the pain pulse through him; you can taste it on his tongue. The second nipple goes much quicker, and when you rise up and pick up the cane again, you see determination in his eyes and a lust lingering right behind it.  
  
You tell him that there’s a reason for this when the cane comes down on his thigh; you tell him that each welt that rises up brings a flood of endorphins with it, that you want him to hurt when you fuck him. You tell him that his only release is about an hour away. Four welts stinging on each leg, and the pain is a promise to him that you’ll take care of him when it’s over.


	4. Maintenance 11-20

**~♥~MAINTENANCE 11-20~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 11**  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
The stinging pain on your legs makes it hard to focus on Brian as he walks around the room methodically turning off every light; afterward turning on the fireplace so you can see him. The heat is soothing, balancing out the burn you feel inside you. And then you realize as you're warming up that he's not exactly warming up to you. He frees you from the rope without making eye contact with you; you watch the bundle snake into a pile on the floor by the bed. He unbuttons his shirt sleeves, rolls them up, and then bends down and _swoop_ , his hands dive under your legs and wrap around, pulling you toward the edge of the bed.  
  
He walks away and returns to the bed with a bottle of lube of in his hand; you watch as he wets his fingers and tosses the bottle on the sheets practically hitting your head. The sound you make when he fingers you...you're ashamed of it, and he's not smiling. It feels so fucking good, and after a minute or so, you look away from him because you can't stand how clinical the whole experience has become.  
  
Brian loves it.  
  
He's never [milked you](http://www.whitelotuseast.com/SacredSpotMassage.htm) before now, but he's talked to you about what it'll be like, how the release you have will feel like a letdown, how it'll drain you better than the best blow job you've ever gotten. He's impressed with the forthcoming puddle on your stomach considering the busy week you and your dick have had. He cleans you off like he doesn't even know you and then walks away to the bathroom reminding you, "Keep your legs spread." Somehow, he always knows when you want to curl up in a ball and shut down.  
  
When he gets back, he's brought you a small cardboard box from the closet you don't have access to. He puts it on your stomach and instructs you to open it, loaning you keys from his pocket so you can get through the tape. When you open the lid and see what it is, you give it back to him.  
  
You don't want it, and he clearly doesn't care.  
  
You turn away from him, accepting the fetal position your body desperately craves.   
  
**BRIAN'S POV**  
  
Apparently, [a chastity device](http://www.extremerestraints.com/chastity-devices_26/bon-4-silicone-chastity-device_3991.html) was not on his Christmas list. "Either lie back like you were, or I can go into the closet and get the full-feature device, Justin." He knows better than to doubt you, so he unwraps his body and lies back with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. You talk to him as you fasten the device around his cock and balls, "There's a lot of pleasure in chastity, Justin--"  
  
"Like you would know," he snaps.  
  
"I'm going to ignore your tone because you're upset right now."  
  
"'Upset' is a bit of a understatement," he says as you test the tiny padlock a few times before sealing his fate.  
  
"You have a safe word," you advise him, "Feel free to use it."   
  
He's quiet after that for a few seconds and then he asks, "Why are you doing this to me?"  
  
"Well, on the surface, because your behavior is incorrigible, but on a deeper level, because you'll like it." He looks down at his cock now that you're finished, and then back at your face, "So, what now?"  
  
"Go stand in the corner until you can adjust your attitude. I'm not interested in fucking a little bitch." You help him stand up because you worry that being in a chastity device for the first time will leave him light headed. He doesn't protest when you walk him to the corner. "Try to clear your mind," you encourage him.  
  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
You can tell that Brian's undressing behind you, and he only leaves you alone to put his clothes on a chair. You watch the shadows from the fireplace dance on the wall in front of you. Then he's back, and his lips are soft behind your ear; his fingertips skim the outside of your arms. "I want you to enjoy this," he says, "And I want to enjoy you."  
  
"How long do I have to wear it?" you ask, fearing the answer.  
  
"We'll talk about that later. Right now, I want you to concentrate on how you _feel_."  
  
"I _feel_ embarrassed," you admit to him as his arms begin to circle you.  
  
"About?"  
  
Your hands reach for his, covering them as he holds you, as you answer him, "Okay, 'embarrassed' isn't the right word. I think I feel afraid."  
  
"Of?"  
  
"Afraid that you did this to me because you don't want me."  
  
He kisses the top of your head; you can feel him smiling, "Like you can't feel how hard I am right now, all pressed against you."  
  
Well, he had you there. "I'll stop being a bitch," you promise him.  
  
"Well, in that case, I'd very much like to put you and your new toy across my lap."  
  
Finally, right where you want to be.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 12  
BRIAN'S POV  
**

You've wanted him across your lap like this all week, and it finally feels like a Friday night. Never once has Justin survived a spanking without a raging hard on, so this is going to be interesting since that's no longer an option. You start out just touching his face, the back of your fingers brushing over his cheek, tucking his hair out of the way. He smiles the entire time and grabs your hand when it starts to wander. "You okay?" you ask him, and he says he just wanted to touch you, that he feels a little unnecessary. "Unnecessary?" you say, "You trying to annihilate the only boner left in this equation?"  
  
He laughs and shakes his head, "I just mean that...well....usually you're demanding that I touch you or suck you--"  
  
"This isn't your show to produce, Mr. Taylor, and you're just gonna have to get over that."  
  
"I'm just going to shut up now," he offers.  
  
"That is a fantastic idea."  
  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
The spanking you get that night is a completely different experience. Instead of focusing on your cock, you ignore it and focus on Brian's hands and then on the pain.... And instead of the swirl of emotions you feel making you want to jerk off, something else happens; you really, _really_ want to please him...more than you've ever wanted before. The harder he spanks you, the more still and obedient you become. And the more obedient you become, the more perfect your posture across Brian's lap, the more aroused he gets, the more he wants you. You reach back and touch his thigh, walking your fingers to his cock, listening to the sounds of pleasure he makes, the way he says your name.... Your back is arched, your legs are spread, his hands and well, the entire room, is on fire.  
  
"Christ, Justin," he says, moving your hand away from his dick. You protest and he responds almost desperately, "Don't wanna come yet." You grin like a Cheshire cat and send an invisible scaffolding through your entire body, bracing yourself even more. Brian responds when your eyes are unfortunately closed...by picking up a cane. The sound of it slicing the air before it hits you gives you maybe a nanosecond to mentally prepare yourself for a sting that brings the tears in your eyes to a boil.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 13  
BRIAN'S POV  
  
**The tear slides down his cheek, and you know this part is over; it's time to move on, to fuck him like he wants to be fucked, hard, on his hands and knees, a pillow stuffed in front of his head to protect him from the headboard. His bottom, his legs are as hot as your dick is buried inside him, and he's blatantly sore. You grab his cheeks with your hands just to see the white take over the red for a few seconds. He's moaning and begging and tearing at the sheets; his chastity device thumps up against his stomach thrust after thrust. You take him because you want him, because he's yours--pain, pleasure and all.   
  
But Justin's not passive in all this; far from it. He's so fucking tight wearing this thing, and he drags your orgasm out of you, draining your cock... Your vision gets blurry, and the words he's saying, "Fuck, _fuck_ , Brian; Jesus. Oh _god_ ," sound like they're coming from the end of a very long tunnel. You've fucked him all the way there.  
 **  
JUSTIN'S POV  
  
** Finally, when it's over, when he's still inside you, leaning on you, holding on, a brand new sensation floods your body; you're satiated. _Satiated_ without a hand job, a blow job, or an orgasm. Satiated in a chastity cage. You float in that place as your bodies untangle and succumb to the sheets. You lie there, face to face, and run your hands over his chest slick with sweat; you taste it, the salt of sex. Maybe he realizes that you like this, this time you get to appreciate his body in the afterglow. There's something so unbelievably reassuring about watching your fingers pass over his pecs; you feel so ungodly spoiled and safe in this headspace. " _Go to sleep_ ," you whisper, giving him permission, and he shakes his head, kisses you, and then says, "And miss this adoration festival? I think not." You smile and wonder if he absorbed any of these endorphins off your tongue. They taste delicious and you were desperately trying to share them. **  
  
BRIAN'S POV  
  
** This mood he's in does not surprise you, well...perhaps the intensity is more than you predicted, but that's okay. He's forgotten about his cock; that does surprise you a little. His sucks on your nipple, and you hold him tighter. His skin feels warmer and smoother than usual; his hair is practically shining in the darkness. You worry that perhaps you got him pregnant, but the blow job he's about to award you makes you forget all about that. You feel like your body is melting into the bed as he tastes you, teases you, and ultimately raises your dick from its untimely death.   
  
You stare across the room at the fireplace when he rolls you over and starts kissing his way down your back. Your fingers coil around the iron headboard when you feel his hair drifting down your ass. He moans when he licks you, and it sends a rhythmic signal to your hips. " _I love you_ ," he steams into your skin, "And I love this dungeon you gave me." You start to respond and he spreads your cheeks and tells you to be quiet.  
  
"I kind of want to disobey you," you hear yourself say.  
  
"Go ahead," he says, "I've got all night."

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 14  
JUSTIN'S POV  
  
**Brian's body on his stomach on the black sheets, it's the first thing you concentrate on. His skin seems to radiate with invitation, more intensely as you concentrate on the strength in his shoulders, the pleasure you associate with his hips, the breadth of his legs as he waits. Almost vulnerable.  
  
There are decisions to be made; you know this, but it doesn't get them made any quicker. Should you cuff him to the bed? You decide, _yes_ , but this isn't about restraint; it's about release. He spends all day running a company and comes home at night to run you; you want to give him a break from that; you want him to feel free to do nothing. He seems to appreciate the leather as it folds around his wrists and ankles; he smiles; his eyes still closed.  
  
You want to lie down on top of him, to take advantage of the signal his skin is emitting, but this device you're in gets in the way. You lie beside him instead, stuffing a pillow in between your shackled cock and his hip. He sighs when you run your fingers through his hair. Your head rests on his upper arm. " _Nice_ ," he says softly, and you can tell that he has no expectations in the moment. Have you done the same for him lately?  
  
Scratching his back, he appreciates it especially in the winter. You separate to find moisturizer in his night table and smooth it over his shoulder blades after warming it in your hand. The room is so quiet you can hear the gratitude he's feeling. You're not sure where to take this, restricted as you are. You can't fuck him, but that quickly turns into an interesting asset you have the privilege of exploring...and he knows that's what you're doing.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 15**  
JUSTIN'S POV  
**  
Should you tell him that sometimes you want to tie him down just to get him to _slow_ down? He'd laugh if you did. Instead, you ask him if he's had a busy week (present company excluded), and he nods and says yes, that he has four accounts that are about to pop. You talk about them for a few minutes, giving him plenty of time to really relax and not worry about what comes next. You tell him that he's beautiful, and he licks his lips and whispers, ' _C'mere_ ,' because he wants to kiss you, so you let him.   
  
Often when you're across Brian's lap or on all fours just before a fuck, you want to stop time and tell him what it really feels like to be at his mercy, so tonight, you tell him once you've asked him to get in that position for you. "There's plenty of slack on your ankles," you say, "Pull your knees in." He does what you ask, closing his eyes when you start talking to him again, kneeling next to his form, your finger trailing down his spine. "I like when you want me in this position," you tell him, "It does something to me, being vulnerable like this for you." He moans as your hand glides over his ass and down the back of his thigh. You want to recreate that experience for him, see what it conjures up inside him. Moving so you're behind him now, you push his legs further apart, your fingers forming a 'v' and spreading him apart a little. When he feels your tongue, you hear him whisper, _"Oh god."_ His lips fall open and stay that way, accommodating his heavy breath. You move again, back beside him, and talk to him about the light show you're privy to every time he spanks you, "It's like a psychedelic art show behind my eyelids. Would you like to see it?" Instead of giving you a verbal answer, his fingers curl into fists, pulling the sheets with them.  
  
Impact begins.  
  
You spoil him like he spoils you, caressing his ass before you slap, letting the heat and the pain build so slowly that it's agonizing. "Keep your eyes closed," you remind him because they tend to pop open with impact. "It's something you have to practice," you tell him, "You have to get to a very trusting place." You rub his back with your free hand, gently pressing his chest further into the mattress. Soon, instead of bracing for the pain, he's anticipating the pleasure that bleeds beneath his skin right after. You reach between his legs, your hot hand touching his balls, his cock. He's hard, and you feel like your touch surprises him; a moan flows out of every pore in his skin, deep and unregulated.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 16**  
BRIAN'S POV  
  
**It doesn't have to mean anything that you want to experience this, but it could mean that you want to see this from the other side or that you want Justin to know how much you trust him... or that there's a part of you that sometimes fantasizes about submitting to him.... Perhaps you built this little place of worship because what happens in this dungeon stays in this dungeon, because you feel unencumbered down here--physically, mentally, emotionally....  
  
Unencumbered enough to push him to plug you, to wrestle with a sensation you haven't felt in years, to see how far he'll go to make this more than pleasurable for you. He tells you (very quietly) that he can, "...go up from here. You can probably handle more than this...."  
  
 _It feels good._ You tell him this, that you like it. Every ounce of free will in your body wants to sacrifice itself in the sheets. He knows how to do this, how hard to spank you to make that chasing wave roll over your entire spine and spill out of your mouth. Your eyes are open, glued to your hands as they try to hold onto this. You don't crave the mental fuck like he does; you crave the raw pleasure brewing inside you.   
  
_"Justin."_  
  
"It's cruel that you've chained my cock, Brian. I _really_ want to fuck you."  
  
"I didn't know this was going to happen," you admit.  
  
"Where's the key?" he asks, increasing the pain to punctuate the question.  
  
"I'm not sure," you confess, "It's in here somewhere."  
  
"Brian, Brian, Brian...," he warns, his peeved little voice making you crazy.   
  
"You're pissed," you hiss into the mattress.  
  
"You're dripping," he counters. He knows damn well that you can't think when you're rounding the corner of a wicked orgasm, and just to make it worse he lies down on his back underneath you, your knees buried in his armpits, and gives your cock a place to land.  
  
His throat.  
  
You stare through your elbows at his blond hair as you fuck his pretty face, his palm smacking your plug about every other thrust. The sheets start to slip off the corners of the bed. You're pulling your own hair when you come because you can't reach his, and it takes everything inside you not to let your hips fall and crush him.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 17**  
BRIAN'S POV  
  
**"If you find the key within ten minutes, you can fuck me. It's that simple," you offer. Justin snorts, "Nothing is ever that simple with you," from across the room where he's found the box his device came in. In the meantime, you have to free yourself from _your own_ cuffs, filled with glee that your cigarettes are waiting quite patiently for you on a night table. The smoke swirls above your head while you observe his desperate search. "Not in the box, huh?" you question him after seeing him toss it back on the floor. Truthfully, it's fine with you if it takes him awhile to find it. Your body is about to sue you for a very overdue nap--punitive damages and all. The halved Viagra pill you took before you left the office is working nicely but it's not the fountain of youth. Eight minutes into his search and he's uber-frustrated. He comes back to the bed, kneels down in front of your reclining posture and sweetly begs you to give him a hint. "No," you say with a smile. He announces that he's calling off the search, arms folded in expected defiance. His ire always travels straight to your cock, and you can feel it cruising in that direction once again. You instruct him to, "Go turn off the overhead light please and dial the fireplace down. It feels like a sweat lodge in here."  
  
" _Please_ ," he says, an ill-timed linguistic request.  
  
"Just do it."  
  
"Lie down," you tell him when he returns to the bed. The dungeon is almost completely dark now save the barely there glow from the fire. Justin flops back on his back, eyes locked on the black wrought iron canopy above your bed. You abandon your cigarette and turn your attention to unfolding his arms which he's making as difficult as he possibly can. "I'll gladly cuff you to this bed if you're going to be this obstinate," you advise him, so he relaxes and complies.  
  
.....  
  
A humid silence drapes the entire room as you look at him; your nose touching his for a second before you kiss him. "That was, like, the best kiss ever," he says with a smile.  
  
"You want another?"  
  
"I want about a hundred," he admits.  
  
"Your honesty is making me hard, and that's quite a feat since my dick is currently on life support."  
  
"Yours?" he asks, "At least it's not in a straight-jacket."  
  
"I'm sorry; that was inconsiderate," you tease, your skin sealing with his. You tell him your secret, that you took half a Viagra before you left work, and his reaction surprises you, "You did? That was so sweet, Brian." (For a minute, you have to wonder if he's working an angle here..., but no, he's serious.) He continues, "You love me quite desperately, don't you?"  
  
"Especially when you talk like Jane Austen."  
  
"Okay, wait, is this why you locked me up? To even the playing field?"  
  
"I should spank you for that, you little smart ass."  
  
"I think I'm being punished enough, jeesh."  
  
You're ready to turn this conversation into something a little more intimate, so you tell him with your lips a few centimeters from his, "You want to talk about why your cock is on lock down? It's a long, long story..."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
Your mouth skims up his face, stopping at his hairline, blond strands soft on your lips, "It starts up here with your beautifully and religiously lightened blond hair."  
  
"You like it? I went yesterday, got a pedicure, too. Feel how soft my feet are." He rubs his feet against your calf, offering proof of his salonic endeavors.  
  
"Yes, well, that chapter is at the end of the story. Right now, we're still on the beginning."

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 18**

**JUSTIN’S POV**

You wait in the strong, dark cocoon of Brian’s arms, wait to be flooded with the grease of his perverted imagination, and because he loves you, he doesn’t make you wait long.“Your cock is in a cage because I could care less about it,” he says.To be fair, you suspected this, that the over-attention you paid to your dick the past week would backfire.You close your eyes, breathing in the musky scent coming from under his arm.You love that smell – quite desperately; your index finger draws a circle around one of his nipples as you listen to him, “I didn’t build this dungeon for your dick; I built it for your tight little asshole, and the beautiful bottom that escorts it everywhere.”You nod and press yourself against his chest; his hand trails down your back just like you want.

_don’t stop…_

_please…_

Brian’s lips rest on your forehead and then leave to skim down your nose before they kiss you, “But that isn’t news to you, is it?” he asks. You smile and it triggers the same response from him. He starts kissing you… your chin, your neck, your collarbone wet from his tongue…. He urges you flat on your back, holding you still as he moves down your body. His mouth dips into your belly button; his cheek bumps up against your shackled cock. You reach down and stroke his hair as he teases you, kissing the acrylic cage, tonguing the grooves in the device. When he moves a little lower, when you feel him breathing on your balls, your knees bend…

  
Good boy,” he says, moving lower still. You moan and spread your legs for him. They could reach from coast to coast and it still wouldn’t feel like far enough. He rubs his face along your inner thigh, just enough stubble to illicit discomfort from the welts the cane left behind; he touches every inch of you… your knees, your calves, your feet. You open your eyes when you feel his body shifting and there he is, kneeling between your feet. He just stares at you as he picks one of them up and presses your fresh pedicure against his cock. “You’re right; they did a very good job,” he admits, guiding your foot up and down his erection. You curl your toes and slide them over the tip of his dick. Brian’s eyes are half-closed; his face tilted back enough to catch the glow from the fireplace. The bliss he’s emitting, it soaks through your skin. It tickles when he lubes your foot, but then you’re touching him again, and he’s moaning as his cock explores the bottom of it, sometimes trying to push between your toes. You marvel at how aroused he gets as his dick peeks in and out of the narrow space, reminding him, “You have an appointment tomorrow morning.” He grins, and you raise your eyebrows as your free foot pokes one of his. “Pedicure pussy?” he teases, “I guess you think you’ll be out of this cage by then.”  
  
“You always know just how to bring me down,” you pout, and your comment seems to concern him. He lays your fucked foot down and crawls so that he’s back over your body again, domination on all fours, a cage you’re used to. His upper body leans down as he speaks, “The only time I want you down is when you’re ‘going down.’ Understand me?”

“Yes.”

He straightens back up, kneeling between your legs again, spreading them apart and tracing the welts, two on each thigh, with this fingers.“These hurt?” he asks.You shake your head.“Too many endorphins,” he admits.“You’ll feel them tomorrow.”Your gaze floats back to his erection, beautiful and pointing straight at you; you ask him, “Shouldn’t we take care of that?”He smiles as his hand moves from your thigh…down and lower; his fingers still slick from playing with your foot.“Spread yourself,” he says, so you reach down and open your cheeks for him, making it easy for him to finger you.“Earlier, when I milked you,” he says, “We’re gonna do that again—“

“I can’t. I’m shackled,” you protest (quite desperately) as he presses on the exact spot that always makes your cock fill up. You start to get anxious; the bizarre sensation damming up against the walls of your cage. “It’s going to happen, Justin. You need to let it.”

“Brian, no.” You feel almost queasy as he increases the number of fingers inside you. You want to squirm away from this, but then he stops, pulls out, and you can breathe – in and out – in and out – realizing that there are beads of sweat on your forehead. You wipe them away and look back at him in time to see him sliding his hand into a long latex glove, a towel that came from somewhere laying beside you. He’s going to fist you like this, in this fucking contraption. The glove is wet with lube when he slips a few fingers inside you again. “You come in your cage for me, and you earn your freedom,” he says.

“And if I can’t?” you ask.

"There is no ‘can’t,’ Justin. There’s only how long it takes.”

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 19**  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
It takes about three minutes, three minutes until you're able to produce enough liquid to satisfy Brian, three minutes of riding a ghostly roller coaster of ecstasy, feeling like you're almost there over and over until you've finally and pathetically arrived. He's not impressed with your donation, but he knows why. "You're dry," he says, "Maybe it took a week and a pyramid of cum offerings, but you're tapped out." Unwarranted as it is, you feel inadequate, disappointed in yourself, too ashamed to even ask him to hold up his end of the deal and release your cock from its prison. You lie in silence as he cleans everything up, including you, like you're just a dresser he's dusting or something. He gets up to dispose of everything, grabbing something out of the mini-fridge when he comes back to bed.  
  
"What's that?" you ask, pointing to his hand.  
  
He opens his hand and shows you...a tiny bottle of poppers with a little metal key taped to it. "You take a hit, and you're free."  
  
"I thought I was free after your fist," you say.  
  
He shakes his head, resting the cold bottle on your stomach, his hand guarding it, "You didn't come for me. You oozed a little--"  
  
"Brian--"  
  


"Don't interrupt me, Justin. Ever. You spent a week down here pleasing yourself, and because of that, you couldn't please me."   
  
There's no use arguing with him; there never is.

  
**BRIAN'S POV**  
  
He knows you're jones-ing to punish him; he knows that you set up impossible situations and then blame him for the failure. He knows that in the end, you'll get what you want from him, even if you have to steal it. His hand bumps into yours, reaching for the bottle, but you pull it away, "I'll do it. Sit up a little." He props himself up on his elbows, takes a deep breath and waits for you to waft the bottle under his nose. "Just once," you tell him as he breathes it in. His eyes go wide; his mouth opens; he sort of smiles and falls back on the bed. You work on getting the key off the bottle and then on fitting it into the tiny padlock in the darkened room. A click and the lock is history, tossed on the floor. The sound he makes when you uncage him falls somewhere between pain and undeserved relief. You encourage him to touch himself, "After all, you've gotten really good at it."  
  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
The room isn't dark anymore; it's glowing and getting warmer and warmer, flames surfing on the tail of every nerve-ending in your body. Your eyes feel like they're closing but they're not. _This won't last long_ , you think, and it feels like you're trapped in a silent movie where everything _feels_ loud.   
  
"Over, Justin," Brian says, rolling you over himself because you're not moving fast enough. You can't do anything he's asking because the hard rush between your legs urgently wants your full attention, but then somehow you taste cotton sheets in your mouth, and the slap of Brian's hand on your ass.   
  
**BRIAN'S POV**  
  
All you want is to fuck him when he's high and helpless, when his bottom is warm from your hand, when all he can do is lie there and beg you to stop while his body shuffles back and forth in the sheets because it _hurts_ now. It's an internal soreness that just gets worse and worse and worse with every thrust; you can feel how much pain he's in; you can feel him resisting you, _hear_ him resisting you.... Fuck, you can taste it, and you're sweating and your connection to him gets all slippery...and it's all magic, holding onto that tenuous place and all you hear when you come inside him is, _"No...more...please....fuck..."_  
  
The groan he makes when you pull out, it satisfies you. "What the fuck was _that_?" he asks, his voice raspy from the evening's activities. "That was me taking what I want," you tell him, "And punishing you for making it so fucking difficult." He rolls onto his back...sort of...and brushes his damp hair off his forehead as he answers you, "Yeah. That's kind of what I thought it was."  
  
Clearly, the boy's a genius.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 20**

**JUSTIN'S POV  
  
** And now the inspection preparation is happening when you're somehow back upstairs in your own bed, the journey mostly a blur. The room feels warm and swimmy; when you bring your hand to your face to scratch your nose, an amber trail of light follows it all the way there. And Brian...he's beautiful, but god, when you're high, he glows, and you know you're smiling because you can feel it infecting him, forming a bridge of bliss with two-way traffic...free flowing. In your head, you're talking to him, thanking him for everything--for the week, tonight, the dungeon, but the words are stolen away as soon as you think them because he's touching you in that way he does... **  
  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** "Are you cold?" you ask him as you peel the comforter back, and he just grins and shakes his head, sighing when you tug at the sheet now, pulling it down to his knees. You need to look at him, to see what you did; you need to taste every mark you left behind. He purrs through all of it, a function of the amount of drugs in his system. You tell him that it's okay to fall asleep because his eyes are closing for longer and longer...but he fights it, his fingers twining through your hair as you kiss the welts on his thighs.   
  
"What...you...do to me...," he half-whispers, "It's stronger than...any...of these drugs you give me." Oh, were that true. At least it's ungodly sweet. You spoil him for that, your mouth trailing up to his cock, teasing it, letting him push it into your mouth. He's barely hard, but he's never moaned like this; a wall has crumbled somewhere inside him, and you've gotten past the mind fuck to the raw pleasure. No, wait...  
  
You've passed that, too. You've gotten somewhere that feels a little foreign to you (at least when you're sober.) You lay your head on his chest, your arms curled around his waist and just feel him breathe. The boundaries, the ones you set for his safety, the ones he toys with to excite you...they're all gone. His legs wrap around you, intensifying your connection. And out in this free-floating space, the only thing coming toward you is...  
 **  
love.**


	5. Maintenance 21-30

**~♥~MAINTENANCE 21-30~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 21  
  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
**You awake the next morning--well, to be fair, it was after lunch--to Brian’s fingers combing through your hair. Your vision still blurry, you can tell by the way he smells that he’s gotten dressed even before you see the denim clinging to his thigh. He smiles when he sees your eyes start to open.  
  
“Where’d you go?” you ask, not even realizing he’d left you.  
  
“You made me an appointment at the salon, remember?”  
  
You sort of remember, the memory is trapped somewhere down in your toes. “You left me?” you ask, wondering why you sound so needy.  
  
“You were snoring like a freight train. I left you a note,” he says, picking it up off the night table and balling it up in his hand.  
  
“I want to read it.” You reach for it and he pulls it away and then gives it back to you. You uncrumple the paper:  
  
 _At the salon. My expectations are in the bathroom. Take care of it. --B_  
  
It’s not what you want to do this morning--shit, this afternoon--but Brian has this expectant look on his face. “You haven’t even pissed yet, have you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
His hand is on your face, and you press it against the pillow, trying to hold onto it, “Do you remember last night?” His voice is soft and sweet and a complete con job that you fall for every single time.  
  
“I could use a little reminding,” you say, and he laughs because that means you remember everything.  
  
“You won’t get that until you do what I left for you.”  
  
You know what he means, that there’s an enema kit in the bathroom, but you protest anyway, “I like it when you do it for me.” That needy feeling starts rising like bile in the back of your throat again so you swallow it. His hand slides off your face and disappears under the sheets, beckoning you to roll toward him, so like a fool, you do. He slaps your ass twice, gets up and tells you to come find him in his office when you’re done. He leaves you freezing, having torn the sheet off of you on the way out and thrown it on the floor.  
  
*****  
You cross the hall stark naked and find him when you’re done and ask him if you need to take a shower, and he says, “Did I ask you to?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
“Your clothes are on the end of the bed. Put them on.”  
  
You leave him again to do this, pulling a pair of white socks out of your drawer because you’re fucking freezing, but you don’t put them on because he didn’t specifically leave them out for you. Your clothes for today are brand new, thicker grey cotton pajamas. He’s finally accepted that it’s winter. You return to him and set the socks on his desk as you stand in front of him and he looks you up and down and then smiles and says, “Perfect.” He stands up fast and pushes you against the wall, the office light switch digging into your back as he smells you, burying his nose in your collarbone and holding your hands hostage over your head. The collar of his black leather jack chills your cheek, a reminder of how he can be so soft and so cold at the same time.  
  
“I wanted to jerk off all over you this morning while you were sleeping,” he tells you, his voice warming your veins. “Wanna know why?”  
  
“Yes,” you say. It comes like a desperate squeak.  
  
His voice gets lower, coarser, “Because you were such a good boy for me last night. Because you let me spank you and tie you up and fuck you over and over and over.”  
  
“I’ll always let you,” you whisper.  
  
“Sore today?” When you admit that you are, he practically growls in your ear. The bite to your earlobe feels like a relief; he’s coming toward you at the speed of attraction. You make sure you’re standing precisely in the way. “There are things I want to do to you, Justin. Things I shouldn’t want.. I built that dungeon for you, but--” He stops, drops your hands and squeezes you hard, his arms folded around you, “But it makes me want things.”  
  
“I want you to be happy. I don’t care what it is.”  
  
He laughs and puts his face an inch from yours, “Justin..,” almost like he’s scolding you. You feel condensation beneath your skin. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” Brian stuffs your socks in his jacket pocket, takes your hand, and starts walking you down the stairs, adding, “This goes way beyond happy.”  
  
*****  
There’s an intensity all over Brian that’s genuinely making you blissful and nervous at the same time. You stop him in the kitchen when you see a paper bag from your favorite deli on the kitchen counter because you’re starving. “You want lunch?” he asks and when you nod ‘yes,’ he tells you not to worry. That it’s waiting for you downstairs. He tugs on your hand and opens the door to the basement. Your bare feet press against icy stairs as you follow him down. He leads you to the door of the dungeon where thankfully, there’s a small carpet that gets you off the concrete. “On your knees,” he says matter-of-factly. You kneel down and stare at the floor and then he’s down there with you. “I need to ask a few questions,” he says, “And there’s a right answer and a wrong answer. You don’t want to give me the wrong answer, understand?” You don’t, but you say that you do as he pulls your black leather collar out of his jacket pocket and fastens it around your neck. “Now, if you’re wondering what the right answer is, it’s the answer you’d give if I asked you if you were hungry right now. Understand?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good boy.” You stare at the crease in his black leather boots as he balances, squatted down in front of you. He starts out with something kind of obvious, “Are you cold, Justin?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Would you like to be warmer?”  
  
Another no brainer. “Yes.” He takes your hand and pulls it toward the bottom of the dungeon door so you can feel the heat seeping out, “Do you feel that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you understand that whatever’s waiting in there for you is for your own good?”  
  
You hesitate a second because you weren’t quite expecting that, “Yes.”  
  
He senses your nerves, “Let’s back up a minute, then. Do you trust me, Justin?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you understand that I know exactly what you need?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Spread your knees.” It’s not a question, but you do what he says, watching his hand move between them, touching you, “You’re hard, Justin. Are you wet?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Up on your knees for me.” You lift up and feel yourself start to tremble--from him and from low blood sugar. He puts his hand in your pants. You reach for him now because you feel like you might faint, your forehead falling against his chest. He smells so powerful. He finally lets his knees touch the carpet and holds you against him, stroking you as you quiver. “It’s okay,” he says, “You just need to eat. Calm down. I’ve got you.”  
  
You moan from the friction on your cock, and he lifts your chin and kisses you. You’re hungry for him more than anything else, and you really believe that until your stomach growls. You both laugh a little as he stands up and turns the doorknob to the dungeon. The heat rushes out, headed straight for you. “Hands and knees,” he says as he leans down and clips something to your collar.  
  
He leads you inside, closes the door, and points to what’s behind it. You see it and freak out a little. “No, Brian.”  
  
“You need to eat,” he reminds you, pointing to the white ceramic bowls on the floor. They both say, “SUNSHINE.” One of them holds your favorite sandwich from the deli, shredded in a heap, and the other what you can only surmise is Diet Coke. A few feet away from your lunch is a huge dog kennel. The door is open and there’s an old, ratty blanket inside. You feel yourself start to cry.  
  
*****  
The room isn’t just warm. It’s hot. He knows you’re holding back tears and tries to make you laugh, “I didn’t make you get the newspaper for me. What’s there to cry about?”  
  
“This,” you say, half-choking.  
  
He drops your leash and it pools on the floor beside you. He starts to undress, leaving himself in nothing but a pair of jeans and then he sits down next to you and undresses you completely, your shirt trailing down the leash until it can finally be released. “Put your face in your bowl, Justin,” he says when you’re naked, “Keep your bottom up and your legs spread.” And when you don’t exactly comply, Brian adds, “You shouldn’t be thinking about anything except what I’m telling you to do. Clear your mind and eat your lunch.”  
  
The shredded sandwich is room temperature and mushy, but you close your eyes and taste it, and the first time you swallow, Brian moves closer to you, rubbing your back and pressing down between your shoulder blades, “Bottom up, Justin.” You continue to eat, realizing that the more you eat, the more he touches you. When you finally make yourself take a drink, his hand moves to your ass, his fingers trailing up and down your crack. You spread your legs further and try to finish your sandwich. You’re about halfway done with it, when he moves from his knees to sitting all the way down, his newly-pedicured foot pressing on your head, smashing it into your food. You hold your breath when you hear something snap open, and then his fingers are cold and wet and teasing you. You close your eyes, no doubt coating your eyelashes with mayonnaise as he fingers you. Your cock is hanging heavy and dripping on the floor.  
  
“That’s a good boy, Justin. You’re making me hard.” He fucks you faster. “If you come on this floor, you’re going to eat it.” You start to grunt, your forehead banging against the far side of your bowl. You feel your orgasm start, and he feels you tighten and stops, pulling your face up out of your bowl. You look at him through spinach hanging off your eyebrow. You should be embarrassed to be covered in food, but you’re not. He looks more like a rabid dog than you do. He scrambles to his feet, walking backwards and pulling on your leash until he bumps into the bed. “Stay,” he says as he pops the buttons on his fly and stuffs his pants down by his ankles before kicking them off. Your leash in hand, he throws himself back on the bed, his legs spread wide open and tugs, “Eat my ass like a good dog. Get in there.”  
  
He spreads himself for you as you smash your dirty face against his asshole and lick and lick and poke him until he’s going fucking crazy. You’re wearing a leash, but he’s the one about to howl at the moon. You’ve never seen him like this, so frenetic, so urgent. “Need to fuck you,” he starts to pant, “I'm gonna come. Hurry up. Get back to your dish.” You crawl back as fast as you can because he sounds almost manic. You don’t wait for his instruction; you just plant your face back in your food and in seconds, he’s behind you, and you can feel the priceless sensation of him pushing to get inside your ass and he moans loud when he gets in deep, hovering over you and holding your face down. “Goddamn dog,” he growls as things start to get really rough, “It's never enough for you, is it? Never hard enough--” Your moaning becomes loud and rhythmic, almost chant-like as he grabs your hips with both hands and starts moving harder and faster. "Answer me."  
  
"No," you admit into your dish.  
  
"You want it to hurt, don't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Tell me again."  
  
"Yes... _please_."  
  
He blurts out your name and spills everywhere inside you as a piece of tomato gets stuck in your nose. Then he makes you get up, turn around, and put your bowl between your knees. You lean against him, seeing stars, as he kneels in front of you, “Come in your bowl like a good dog.”  
  
He makes you lick it clean.  
  
You both need a shower when it’s over, but you get to go first on your hands and knees. Brian washes you like a dog, spraying you down like a recalcitrant mutt, water and shampoo flooding past your squeezed-shut eyes. You have to keep spitting it out as it speeds down your face. He wraps you in a huge towel when he’s done and orders you to lie on the carpeted bathroom floor while he takes a shower fit for the god he looks like. It’s so fucking hot in the bathroom that you soon shed the towel and just lie there waiting for him, your collar still tight around your neck.  
  
*****  
  
“You look so fucking hot,” you tell him when he’s done, a towel wrapped around his waist. He sits down on the floor with you; the heated carpet feels like heaven. You reach for his towel and pull on it until it unravels, and he closes his eyes halfway, stroking himself as you lie there just watching him. “C’mere,” he says after a minute or so, indicating that he wants you to sit on his lap...and his cock. He looks down, tracing the marks he made on your legs the night before as you rock with him so deep inside you. You lean forward and kiss him...soft, sweet, wanting...and then you feel your collar pop free...

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 22  
  
BRIAN’S POV**  
  
 _What have you done to him?_ It’s the first thought that refuses to leave the lobby of your mind, and yet, he seems none the worse for wear even though the fuck has morphed (thanks to physical exhaustion on both of your parts) into Justin just sitting in your lap, pressed against you and moaning softly as you stroke his hair, his back. The bathroom floor – an unlikely but necessary destination for aftercare. You have to decide if he’s floating in subspace or in danger of ‘bottoming out.’ You don’t want to ask him, deciding instead to just feel your way. You reach up and turn off the bathroom light, leaving the randomly lit tiles in the shower stall responsible for illuminating the small room. You feel him smile against your shoulder.  
  
You could tell him things if you want to--that you’re not sure exactly what got into you or for that matter, if it’s left you yet. You could tell him that you love him but that word has suddenly become woefully inadequate for the way you feel. So instead, you search for some truth inside you, something to give him in appreciation for what he’s given you, your voice a hesitant whisper and a substandard messenger for the sentiment brewing inside you, “ _I never want this moment to end.”_  
  
His body soon feels like it’s making a million tiny fists beneath the surface and when they release, his tears are flowing down your chest. A gentleman would offer a handkerchief in this situation, and yet all you have is a tug of toilet paper to give and a reassurance, “We’ll stay right here…as long as you need.”  
  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
You feel like you’re coming to the end of a fearless roller coaster ride, a ride that leaves you unable to rely on your own legs when it’s time to exit the car. Without question, you know he’s carrying you out of your private theme park. You try to remember the details of the journey, but the only thing that feels legitimate is this epoxy-like connection you have to him. The lighted tiles in the shower…they’re so…cool…and pretty.  
  
And then there’s this needy, soul-searching kiss. That fierce desire he has for you is rising again, hovering over you and keeping you outside yourself. This feeling, it throbs desperately, demanding your attention. “Let me take you to bed,” he says, “Just give me a minute. I’ll be _right_ back.” He gets up and wraps you in a warm towel, leaves you sitting on the toilet. You hear doors open and close, several in succession. When the bathroom door opens again, his hand is out-stretched. You take it, letting the towel pool on the floor. It’s dark in your dungeon bedroom save the fireplace; the props from your scene are gone. There’s a bottle of water, a jar of peanut butter, a spoon and a banana on the table beside the bed.  
  
“Eat something for me before you lie down,” he says, so you sit up in the cool black sheets watching him peel the banana and hand it to you. You eat it, handing him the refuse when you’re done. “Thank you,” he says, smiling. Your eyes follow him as he walks to the other side of the bed and slides in beside you. The warmth returns as he holds you against him, kissing the back of your neck. You shift in his arms so you’re facing him and confess, “I know I’m not, but I feel like I’m rolling.”  
  
“I didn’t spike your food. I swear.”  
  
“I know. I just…can’t stop. I feel like there’s a giant tiger chasing me through a jungle of pleasure.”  
  
“Meow,” he teases you, and then gets more serious, “It’s subspace. You’re floating free.”  
  
He seems relieved.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 23** **

**JUSTIN'S POV**

You don't know what to call this place, so you'll just take Brian's word for it. Who cares what it's called when you feel this good? To be next to him like this, caught up in his web, you feel like the luckiest prey in the animal kingdom. No one here lies in wait; his hands are everywhere at once as if he's determined that his touch has magical powers. You long to be worthy of them every single day. "Can I ask you something?" he says so quietly.   
  
"Of course."  
  
"I was just wondering.... When we were in the bathroom and you started crying--"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I mean, you don't have to tell me, but I felt like something else was going on there. It was different than just a physical release. You know?"  
  
You knew what he was talking about and to be honest, it wasn't easy to explain to him because every time you tried, you felt like your lungs were trembling, but you pressed on because you wanted him to know. You took a deep but fettered breath, "You know how sometimes something happens and you get deja vu?"  
  
Brian nodded, his hand threading up through your hair and pulling your face against his chest, "You're getting upset again. I can feel it."  
  
"No, no...I'm not upset; it was just that I got this raw, raw feeling. It took me back."  
  
"To what?"  
  
You told him while your finger traced the outline of his nipple, around and around, "To how I felt the first time we fucked...after I got hurt."  
  
"Oh god, I'm sorry."  
  
"No, don't be sorry. I don't mean it like that. It was a good feeling, like the connection between us had been completely cleared of obstacles. I could feel every ounce of you like I did that night. I don't know why what we just did made that happen, but I felt like a collapsed tunnel was suddenly reopened."  
  
Brian was quiet for several seconds before saying, "I don't know why either, but I felt something, too."  
  
You continued, "I got this weird shiver of adrenaline when I realized that I was _really_ pleasing you; you weren't concentrating on my experience; you were having your own. You were with me, Brian, as yourself. Really _with_ me." Brian lifted your chin and kissed you, softly at first and then with more force as he rolled you onto your back, his body falling onto yours. Your hands crossed behind his neck. His hand brushed over your forehead, playing with your hair, "But that night, back then, it was about pleasing you, about making you comfortable in our bed again."  
  
You shook your head, "No. It was about you allowing yourself to feel pleasure with me, pleasure I know you didn't think you were entitled to."  
  
 _"I wasn't,"_ he whispered.  
  
"You're freaked out about what we did today, aren't you?"  
  
"Kinda."  
  
"You don't think you were entitled to that pleasure either?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"And yet that's the road that leads to your satisfaction. You convince yourself you're not entitled to it for so long that it drives you to steal it."  
  
......  
......  
  
Your words seemed to have a revelatory affect on Brian as he confessed to you, "I don't want to be that way. Not with you; I don't want to steal from you."  
  
His hands had stilled in the moment, but yours were moving, smoothing down his back, tracing the curve of his hips, "Brian, you could never steal from me because you give more than you ever take away." Brian got really quiet after that, and you began to worry that you'd said the wrong thing, that you'd collapsed the tunnel that was wide open just seconds ago. His breathing was heavy next to your ear, heavy and warm as he bathed you with a humid whisper, "I'm gonna suck you until your pretty blue eyes roll back in your head."

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 24**

**JUSTIN'S POV**

The details of that blow job are sort of a mystery to you. You remember pressing Brian's face down between your legs and what his hair felt like skimming through your fingers. The orgasm that finally resulted had to hunt you down, search for you in the clouds because you were so far gone. You can still feel Brian's face collapsed against your thigh like it was a paperweight holding down a letter in a windstorm. But that's all over now, and you're waking up alone in your dungeon. The light is on in the bathroom and the door is pulled almost shut. You call, "Brian?" but there's no answer. You run your hands up over your head, stretching yourself awake, and that's when you feel something. Maybe his head did turn into a paperweight because you feel paper in the sheets. You sit up and fiddle with a bedside lamp, so stylish that it's over-complicated. When it finally illuminates you see cream colored papers clipped together. Your eyes focus as you sit up and read what the top piece of paper says in Brian's handwriting:  
  
 _Justin,  
I hope you slept well. Attached to this note are two envelopes. You may open only one of them and you must decide immediately. Be sure to follow the instructions inside. I look forward to your decision.  
\--Brian_  
  
You remove the paperclip and separate the envelopes. Each one is sealed and has only one word on the front. One reads: _Enough_ and one reads _More._ You try to hold them up to the light to see what's inside each one but you can't discern anything. You stare at the one that says _Enough_ for a few seconds and then sit it aside on the night stand. _More_ you open and slide out another piece of cream paper:  
  
 _Justin,  
Your cell phone is in the bathroom on the counter along with a blindfold. Turn on the phone and send me a text message that you're awake. Silence your phone and leave it where you found it. Next, make sure you're undressed from the waist down and lie down crossways on the bed on your stomach. Tie the blindfold and be sure your legs are spread and facing the doorway. Wait for me. I'll see you very soon.  
\--Brian_  
  
......  
  
Before you obey Brian, you check the dungeon door. It's locked. You're not getting out of here alone. You follow Brian's instructions and send a text that reads: _awake_. You sit on the bed and tie the black blindfold on and then lie down like he told you to, spreading your legs in the quiet darkness as you count each beat of your heart as a second on a clock you can't see. After maybe five minutes, you hear footsteps on the stairs. You lick your lips when you hear the doorknob turn. Someone comes in and doesn't say a word.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 25**

**JUSTIN'S POV**

It has to be him; you know it has to be. It smells like him, you convince yourself, and when the footsteps start to travel around the perimeter of the bed, you forget to breathe. He touches you, his fingertips skating over the back of your head like you're some shirt on a rack he might want to buy. He walks on by, headed to the wall because his footsteps stop going forward in that familiar clip; he's moving side to side. After a few noises you can't quite identify, you recognize the distinct sound of metal wheels crossing the concrete floor. It's a chair, and he parks it in front of your head. You hear the cushion compress when he sits down, and then you feel that quick, ecstatic thrill you get when Brian snaps your collar around your neck.  
  
It's him.  
  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
  
"You doing okay?" you ask him quietly, your fingers trailing over his so that he'll forgo the fists he's formed and stop strangling the sheets. He nods and opens his hands, clearly reaching for yours. "I want to talk to you about a dilemma I'm having," you say.  
  
He squeezes your fingers, "Okay."  
  
"This past week, all those times I watched you come down in this room and jerk off without me and without permission...you see, I have to punish you for that. You understand that, correct?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"See, I thought that putting you on a leash and making you eat, lick ass, and fuck like a dog would be that punishment, but I'll be damned if that didn't feel like punishment at all, did it?"  
  
"No," he says, reluctantly.  
  
You take your hand back and stroke the back of his head, "I never thought I'd have to go further than this morning to teach you a lesson. Because you're not learning on your own, right? Can we agree on that?"  
  
"Yes," and there's actual sorrow somewhere in his voice.  
  
"Well, don't be too hard on yourself. You're an entitled, bitchy little twat, but we both know you were born that way, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"And you know that if you were any less entitled or less bitchy, we'd have an even bigger problem on our hands, wouldn't we?" He laughs--just a little--so you ask, "Is there something funny about that?"  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"Really?" His candor surprises you. "What's so funny? Enlighten me."  
  
"Well," he begins and you can hear the regret shadowing each word as they leave his lips anyway, "That's the part of me you're most attracted to; you always have...been." And then he adds--quickly--because he can feel his stock taking a nose dive, "I mean, just...in my opinion."  
  
"Oh, okay...so you're under the impression that your opinion matters here?"  
  
Justin starts to swallow hard and then tries to stop that from happening, so his words sound like a frog with a trachea, "No...I'm not. I mean, it doesn't."  
  
"You know, you have this unique ability to make every situation you're in markedly worse. Have you ever noticed that?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, I don't solve those kinds of problems so you're on your own with that."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Okay, that's enough conversation for now. I want you to pull your knees in so your bottom is exactly where I like it, scoot back to the edge of the bed, and keep your pretty face in the sheets. Can you handle that?"  
  
"Yes," he says but he's still gripping your hand so you have to almost pry it away. He gets into position as you walk around the bed and head for the closet.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 26**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** The wicked anticipation you usually feel minutes before Brian is going to do a number on you, well...it feels different this time. Behind your blindfold, in your mind's eye, you admit to yourself that you're kind of...scared. Not scared enough to send your dick into hiding, just scared enough to wonder if you should've pushed him for more conversation because right now...at this minute...you'd give anything to talk to him again. Instead, you just get to listen as keys jingle and doors open and boxes are opened and eventually, there's movement on the mattress--the thump of things meeting the sheets. You toy with your collar--a nervous habit. It comes undone accidentally, and Brian notices. "I'll fix it," he offers. You hear him walking around the bed again, getting closer to you and then you feel his fingers trying to reattach it. Seconds pass before he admits, "Okay. You broke it. The snap, I mean."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay. Gives me a good excuse to buy you a really nice one."  
  
"Can I have it?" you ask, and it takes him a moment to understand that you mean right now, that you want to hold onto it. He picks up your hand and places it underneath your palm, and that's when you realize that you can't let him walk away from you again. You want him here. _Now._ So in the darkness behind your blindfold and on all fours, you reach out hoping that you can catch his hand or his shirt or his leg or something and while you don't actually grasp anything, the gesture doesn't go unnoticed. His voice is closer again, "What? What's the matter?"  
  
You blurt out the truth; it feels so urgent, "I don't want this. I'm sorry.”  
  
He’s confused, “Your collar?”  
  
“No, I mean, I don't want to be...punished."  
  
Brian sighs and sits down on the bed right next to your face; he strokes your hair as he speaks, "Give me a minute to put everything away, okay? Just sit tight."  
  
"Okay," you whisper, shame starting to well up inside of you for doing this, or rather, not doing it. You know it's stupid, but the feeling just gets worse and worse. It envelopes you so fiercely that you aren't even listening as Brian reverses the steps he took minutes ago. He's back and sitting down next to you and you never even heard the closet door being locked or the keys jingling or his footsteps back to you--  
  
"Let's take this off," he says, meaning the blindfold. He lays it in his lap while your eyes adjust to the lights in the room. "It's too bright," he says and he fiddles with the remote control on the bed to dim the room a bit. "It’s okay; lie down. Relax." He's wearing really tight jeans and a long sleeve black knit shirt, the sleeves bunched. You let your body succumb back into the sheets, your face even with his thigh. He reaches over you and tugs on a blanket to cover you up. His hand is on your covered shoulder, "So, we broke more than the collar, didn't we?" And when you don't answer him right away, he adds, "Trust, I mean. The trust was broken...somewhere?"  
  
You have to man-up and tell him; you know you do. It's unfair not to. You have to push through all the guilty feelings you have and get to something you both can work with. "Something felt off," you say quietly.  
  
"Okay. That's understandable. Do you know what or when?"  
  
The guilty sensation starts to ooze its way to the surface again despite your best intentions, "No. I just…I got scared."  
  
He smiles like he's grateful for those three piddly words. "Scared is okay. Sometimes you really like that feeling. There's a hell of a daredevil inside you, so something must've really hit a nerve."  
  
......  
  
......  
  
"I was scared of the pain. I was scared of you actually punishing me,” you confide thinking that it’s the truth.  
  
"But I didn't inflict any pain."  
  
"I know. I'm dorky like that."  
  
"You mean the threat of being punished was too much?"  
  
That's when you can feel a giant race horse named Change the Subject galloping into your brain and wrestling you for control. He wins when you ask, "What was in the other envelope?"  
  
Brian's eyebrows rise and he reaches over to the night table, grabs it and hands it to you, "Go ahead. Open it."  
  
You take it from him and lie on your back to unseal the envelope titled _Enough_ , Brian's palm resting on your stomach. There's one sheet of paper inside and you unfold it:  
  
 _Justin--  
You should know by now that there's no such thing as enough. Now, I have to punish you for opening the wrong envelope on top of everything else. Jeesh, my work is never done, and neither is yours. Open the other envelope. :)  
  
\--Brian_  
  
He takes it away from you and sets it aside, "So, we're back where we were. You don't want to be punished?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You think you don't deserve it?"  
  
You relax a little. Finally a question you can answer without feeling a pit in your stomach, "No...no...I know I deserve it.... That's...why I'm...scared, I think."  
  
His hand moves under the blanket, up and down your chest, up and down your stomach, and you hope he doesn't notice when you push it a little further down.... He leans down from his authoritative position and kisses you, stroking you slowly. "Your dick isn't scared," he whispers.  
  
"I don't have 4G down there. It's always the last to know."  
  
He laughs, his breath tickling your nose. "See, that's what I mean about that daredevil inside you; you're not afraid of me."  
  
You think about it for a minute and tell him, "You're right. It's not you. I'm afraid of my own capacity...to misbehave...." _Jesus, I'm afraid of myself._  
  
"Hmmm. Okay, let me see if I can untie this knot we're in," he offers, "You're afraid of being punished because regardless of how much I punish you, you know you'll do something to deserve an even worse punishment? And so you think that if we open that door, it'll never close again?"  
  
"Yeah...kinda."  
  
"But I'm in charge of that door. Don't you think I can handle that?"  
  
God, he’s fucking Barbara Walters with these questions.  
  
….  
…. **  
  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** You decide not to wait for that answer. Justin can tie himself up in knots that would put a sailor to shame. You kick your boots off one by one, slide your shirt over your head and then stuff your jeans down until you can kick them off. This is what he wants, you think; you can tell by the way he welcomes your body on top of his, his smile spreading as wide as his legs. At first you think it's that simple, that this was a ploy to get you here, but the look on his face morphs a bit while you're kissing him, while he's rubbing your lower back, while your erection is noticed. He's not begging to be fucked; there's something else going on. You decide to take over and fuss with the sheets until you can find the remote for the lights. One click and the entire room is dark. He moans a little; it makes your dick leak.  
  
"Okay, so this is what you wanted?" you ask, "To be on your back for me?"  
  
His voice is almost hard to hear when he answers you, "You always tell me that I'm a good boy...and I'm not."  
  
"Who decides if you're a good boy?"  
  
"You do."  
  
"And have I ever told you otherwise?"  
  
"No."  
  
"So, this is internal. You feel guilty for disobeying me?"  
  
"Well, yes, but that's stupid because I never know what the rules are until I break them."  
  
You grin because that's exactly the way you want it. "Then perhaps you should give yourself a break."  
  
"This isn't 'maintenance,'" he complains, "It's 'high maintenance.'"  
  
"It makes me want to spank you when you put yourself down like that," you inform him.  
  
"Whoops," he says and then he kisses you, hard. "Fuck me," he moans.  
  
"Not until we work this out. I want you to listen to me."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
Your hands are playing with his hair, your lips are inches from his face, "Sometimes you have to relinquish control to me. That's the way it is, the way it's always been, and the way it's always going to be. And if I feel like you need to be punished, then that's tough shit."  
  
" _Brian_ ," he protests with that illegal little whine he bought on some slutty black market.  
  
"You have a safe word for a reason. I expect you to use it when something's going too far. What I don't expect nor will I tolerate, is you being too chicken shit to use it and opting to manipulate me instead."  
  
"I knew I'd get in trouble for this," he pouts like a recalcitrant teenager.  
  
"You're not in trouble, Justin. Sometimes, though, you wander off the reservation without a chaperone, and when that happens, I'm coming to get you--no matter what."  
  
"Now I'm being punished with metaphors."  
  
Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.  
  
"We’re going to compromise this time," you tell him in the dark. "I'm still going to punish you, but you don't have to be blindfolded."  
  
" _Brian, please.”_  
  
You take a deep breath and then another one and introduce him to reality with one hand snug around his throat, "Listen, carefully, Justin. Very carefully. I thought long and hard--pardon the pun--about this today while you were sleeping. I thought about how you came down here all week long and jerked off--"  
  
"I didn't know there were cameras!"  
  
"That's not the point, and don't interrupt me. You did it to shock me. You thought when we came back down here and I saw that pyramid of cum jars that you'd pulled one over on me, but I had _all_ week to watch you and think about what you were doing, so I decided that I'm going to return the favor. I don’t make these decisions lightly, and you know that. Now, I'm going to blindfold you just while I get what I need because you aren't allowed to see inside the closet." You slide the blindfold back over his eyes, raise the lights a bit and make quick work of it. Once the closet is shut and locked, you tell him, "You can take it off."  
  
"What the hell is that?" he asks, pointing at the black box in your hands.  
  
"It’s karma. You tried to shock me; I'm going to shock you." You kneel on the bed and flip the box open. His eyes are huge. "Roll over and get on your knees again."  
  
"Brian, what is it?" He sounds perfectly destroyed.  
  
" _Over_ , Justin."  
  
He repositions himself reluctantly, his ass in the air, and starts a litany of apologies--apparently directed to the mattress. (After the week he's had down here, you don't think apologizing to the mattress is such a bad idea.) The lube for this electric plug is sterile. You don't know why and don't care, but it makes it deliciously creepy. "Open up for me," you say as you work it inside him. His protestations continue but his dick is hanging heavy. He stares through his legs, sneaking a peek at the red cord trailing from it and up into a TENS unit in your hand. You decide to be magnanimous, and ask him, "Do you need me to spank you first?" His face is torturing a pillow so you can barely hear his reply. "Was that a 'yes?'"  
  
" _Yes._ "  
  
You set the box down and rub your hands over his bottom and down his back a few times. His back arches for you, and you spank him several times before running your hands over all the pinking skin to spread the heat. You keep this up, alternating one and then the other until you reach between his legs and steady his swinging cock. Your hand is hot, and you hear him, " _Oh god. God."_  
  
"Now, you're going to jerk off for me again, just like you did all week. Only this time, your bottom is beet red and plugged, which makes it so much more enjoyable for me." You locate the black box again and turn the dial just enough so that he can feel a vibration coming from the plug. "Let's go, Justin. Hand-to-cock and get to work. And don't hide your face. That's half the fun."  
  
His jaw stiffens as he reaches back for his dick and starts to stroke for you. He mumbles in a whisper, "Tell me. Tell me. Please."  
  
"Show me. Show me and tell yourself."  
  
His hips start to roll into his hand and he repeats over and over again, "I'm a good boy... I'm a good boy..."  
  
You increase the vibration every time you hear 'good boy,' so that it's no longer a vibration, but a buzz, and then no longer a buzz, but a sting—a current that reverberates throughout his whole body. Every once in awhile his whole body will tremble, his knees practically lifting off the sheets. " _This hurts_ ," he hisses.  
  
"Well, now you know how I feel when you come down here and play make believe without me." You can tell by the tension in his thighs that he's close to orgasm, "You're almost done, Sunshine. One nice money shot and this puppy goes back in the closet."  
  
"Don't say 'puppy,'" he snarks.  
  
You laugh and as if on cue, his body tightens, and he moans loudly when he starts to come. You turn the dial to ten as the white stripes splash on the bed. He lets out a barrage of profanities from the pain and release, panting with his hands flat by his head when it's over. "Don't move," you tell him as you turn the device off, help him expel it and carry it to the bathroom sink.  
  
"Can I please lay down?" he asks as you walk back to the bed.  
  
"No. I'm going to fuck you. Then you can."  
  
It's one of those fucks you fantasize about, one where he's so tight (and so mad) that his upper body converts to a rag doll as his ass tries to absorb the power of your cock; he bobs almost frantically trying to stay on his knees. You purposely pull out when you're almost done just to jerk off all over his worn-out ass, leaving him sticky...exhausted...and a little humiliated. "I'm done with you," you inform him and he collapses into the sheets.  
  
……  
  
After you clean up and return to bed, you try to hold him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, deciding instead to lie on the edge of the bed with his back to you. “What’s the matter?” you ask.  
  
“You’re done with me? Maybe I’m done with you.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
Hand to god, you don’t know how he does this, how he can floor his emotional gas pedal and then slam on the brakes the second you take your eyes off the road. “You know, I’m starting to think that I don’t know how to please you because you’re only happy when you’re torturing me.”  
  
“I am not fucking happy right now,” he snaps.  
  
“Then what are you?” And when he doesn’t answer you, you add, “Besides a very, very good boy?”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“Insecure,” he finally says very, very quietly.  
  
You reach over and touch his shoulder, his hair, “Would you come here please?”  
  
“I don’t want to, Brian. Okay?”  
  
You ponder his question and decide that it’s not okay, that if he won’t come to you, you’ll go to him, both of you taking up a fourth of your huge bed now. You snake your hand around his waist and try to hold his hand; he slaps it and says, “Don’t. I need my hands to talk.”  
  
He’s such a little queen.  
  
“Well, then, let’s hear some talking. I did something that upset you. What was it?”  
  
“I don’t know how to explain this,” he admits.  
  
“That’s okay. Just try.”  
  
“It’s going to take me a minute. I can’t figure it out.”  
  
“Okay.” You kiss the back of his neck, his shoulder blades, and rub his stomach, pulling him away from the edge of the bed bit by bit. His body moves…slowly…until he’s on his stomach. Finally, he speaks, still facing away from you, his head resting on his arms, “It hurt my feelings that you really wanted to punish me.”  
  
“Keep going.”  
  
“I broke a rule; I know I did,” and at first you think he’s talking about coming down here and jacking off, but his explanation continues proving you wrong, “At one point, I left the head space. I tried to tell you…but then, I got back in it, so I let it go.”  
  
“You needed me to stop the scene? You didn’t want to stop it yourself?”  
  
“Yes,” he says and then he turns and faces you, “I’m sorry. That’s really, really wrong. You’re right, I’m a chicken shit.”  
  
“No, no, that’s my fault,” you argue, “I shouldn’t have called you that or put it to you that way. I pushed you into a corner.”  
  
“It’s not your fault. Earlier, when I told you I got that déjà vu feeling, well, I had another one, only this time it wasn’t a good one.”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“I got that feeling I used to get when we first met, like you were always slipping through my fingers, like I couldn’t hold onto you no matter what I tried.”  
  
He buries his forehead in his arms to minimize the emotion coming to the surface. You touch his hair, your hand smoothing down his back beneath the sheet. “Listen to me. You’re not the only one who gets emotionally overpowered when we indulge in this stuff. It happens to me, too. I think it’s just that I’m usually the one with the control so I can push it back down more easily.”  
  
“Sometimes my desire and my fear get all tangled up,” he says, letting you see his face again, “Like they get in this huge fucking rat’s nest that I can’t unravel.”  
  
“Okay, good; I need to know that. Sometimes I forget to watch for it. I get wound up too and forget that extreme highs leave you nowhere to go but down. Part of this is just emotional gravity…what goes up…and all that.”  
  
“Really?” he asks, a little bit of hope on his face.  
  
“Yeah—“  
  
“I guess I don’t understand how I can want and not want something at the same time. I get confused and then I get angry at myself for putting you in a no-win situation,” he explains.  
  
“Justin, everything doesn’t have to be perfect every time. You’re safe with me, even if you don’t like what we’re doing at a particular moment. I will always catch you. I might be a little late now and then, but I’ll catch you.” He smiles and scoots toward you, his head resting on your chest. “I think we need to have more than just a safe word, though,” you continue. “We need something before that, something you’re comfortable with because you’re not comfortable ending a scene that hard. It’s too extreme.”  
  
“I think you’re right.”  
  
You berate yourself a little in your own head for not catching onto this sooner. “Yeah, it’s not fair to send you into flying into subspace and then expect you to hit an eject button.”  
  
He looks up at you, his chin resting on his fist, “Thank you for understanding…and for figuring it out.”  
  
“It’s my pleasure,” you admit because it really is. This intersection between you is your favorite destination.  
  
“Can I take you out to dinner?” Justin asks. “Like to one of those breeder-central steak houses where the décor and music is utterly hideous but the food is killer?”  
  
“You sure can,” you grinned. “I’m all yours.”

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 27**

****BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** You always look back on that night fondly – the night Justin took you out on a date after that day in the dungeon. The steak house you went to played the most obnoxious country music at decibels that did more harm to both of you than the dungeon ever could. As a result, there wasn’t much conversation between you as you ate, just a lot of smiling and nodding. But afterwards, once you were back home again, you aimed for just the opposite, taking his hand after you both hung your coats and leading him upstairs to your study. The room is home to a soothing palette of earth tones including a soft, dark brown leather sofa. Earlier that day, you’d ventured into some new territory with him, and you wanted to find your way back there without the threat of whips and chains clattering in the background.  
  
He takes off his shoes and sits sideways with his knees bent, his toes burrowed under your thighs. You turn on the television and locate the on demand listing of Bill Maher’s show from the night before. “May I have the blanket behind you?” he asks and you reach back, find the black throw and hand it to him. “Thanks,” he says, making sure the only thing sticking out of it is his head. It’s fucking freezing outside but it’s warm and cozy where you sit.  
  
Neither of you had any interest in the first guest Maher had on, so you start to fast forward through it, but he stops you, a hand on your arm, and says, “Just mute it for a minute.” You do, turning toward him because he has a pensive look on his face, “I feel like I owe you,” he says.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For today, for the whole week, for everything you did—just to please me.”  
  
“Yeah…well, you bought dinner. I think we’re good.”  
  
He laughs and disagrees with you, “Like there’s any fair comparison there.”  
  
“You don’t owe me anything,” you reiterate.  
  
He surprises you when he continues, “I’m sorry about earlier…about…you know.. .feeling…weird.”  
  
“The apology window closed at five p.m. I don’t want to hear that.”  
  
“Well…then…I’ll just camp out front in a thermal sleeping bag until it reopens.”  
  
“An Occupy movement. How original.”  
  
He has no idea as you watch the rest of the show that the initial punishment you’d planned for him that day was far more painful and punitive. He doesn’t know that you abandoned it when you felt your connection to him filling with static. (Having a well-stocked dungeon makes those decisions much easier to conceal.) As Maher’s show ends, Justin taps you, “I want to watch Overtime.” You check the list, “It’s not up yet.” You turn off the TV and turn toward him, your hand on his knee, “I want to talk.”  
  
Justin’s eyeballs look enormous, “You’re freaking me out. You never want to talk.”  
  
“I _am_ a high-order mammal, you know. I’m more than capable of having a conversation.”  
  
“Duh, I know that. What do you want to talk about?”  
  
You slide your hand under his blanket and wrap your hand around his thigh, “Well, first off, we sort of reached a milestone today.”  
  
“What milestone?”  
  
“Well, we broke something that came in our very first kinky tool kit.”  
  
“That collar came in a _kit_?” (He seems appalled. You can take the boy out of the country club but never the other way around.)  
  
“Yes, remember that cheap black bag that had the collar, a ball gag, hand cuffs, a blindfold, a leather paddle—“  
  
“Which I hated. I like wood.”  
  
“A more obvious statement has never been made,” you snark and he laughs, “It even came with one of little starter butt plugs!”  
  
“Yes, if memory serves, you laughed at it and gave it to me.”  
  
“I think it’s endearing that you’re so tight,” he says with a look on his face that makes it almost believable. (To this day, he doesn’t know that you hid that plug fearing that he might get some crazy idea in his head while you were sleeping or something.)  
  
“Anyhoo,” you roll your eyes as you continue, “I think we should talk about where we are in this little adventure of ours. I’m wondering if it’s where you want to be.”  
  
“I _want_ to be across your lap.”  
  
“Justin, I’m trying to be serious.”  
  
“So am I…sort of…in a roundabout way, I guess.”  
  
Sometimes you forget that the direct approach with Justin rarely works.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 28**

****JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
** Brian gives you a curious smile when you get up off the sofa and reach for his hand, “Come with me, okay?” Still grinning a little, he nods and accepts your hand, shutting lights off behind you as you head to your bedroom. “Look,” you say, “We can talk…if we both talk.”  
  
“Where?” he asks.  
  
“Let’s just sit on the bed like this,” and you fold your legs like a pretzel and indicate for Brian to do the same. Soon he’s facing you in the same position, your feet barely touching.  
  
“Are we meditating?” he asks.  
  
“Kind of. I know the conversation you want to have,” you explain, “But I need something a little different. Hold my hand.” You demonstrate that you want to hold hands on your knees, with each of you getting one upper hand. “It’s equal now.”  
  
“Equal,” Brian reiterates. “Ohmmmm.”  
  
“Don’t make jokes.” You squeeze his hand affectionately so he squeezes yours. “I was thinking that you can start. You can ask a question and I can either answer it or kiss you and same for you.”  
  
“How about answer it or blow me?”  
  
“No. Be serious. You can go first, okay?”  
  
~+~+~+~+~+~+ **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
**  
Something’s gotten into him, but it’s nice sitting in the semi-darkness. You have questions you want answers to, so you decide to dive right in, “Okay. First question, do you still want to be spanked every day?”  
  
He answers without hesitation, “Yes. Do you still want to do it?”  
  
“Yes, what’s more important to you—the pain and the pleasure or the humiliating aspect of it?”  
  
“Pass,” he says, and then he leans forward to kiss you; it’s soft and sweet and lasts a few seconds.  
  
“Okay, if you pass, then I get to keep asking.”  
  
He sighs, “Fine. Go.”  
  
“Do you trust that I will always keep you safe?”  
  
“Yes, completely.” That makes you feel good. “My turn. What goes through your mind when I’m across you lap?” Justin asks.  
  
The process feels a little like an emotional firing range, but he’s talking so you have to keep firing. You sit up a little straighter as if it helps you think or something, “Well, a lot of things, but mostly this euphoric sensation tied to pleasing you. When you…present yourself to me like that…I get this rush inside me. It’s almost like I experience the ecstasy first and then it flows from me to you. How often do you fantasize about being there?”  
  
“Everyday,” he admits, “Do you think there’s something weird about me that I want it all the time?”  
  
“Sometimes, I think you have ‘daddy issues.’ But hell, who doesn’t?”  
  
“That’s a rhetorical question,” Justin points out ignoring your declaration. “Try another one.”  
  
“Um, okay. Were you hoping to be spanked to be spanked tonight?”  
  
Justin smiles at you, “Is the sky blue?”  
  
You laugh supposing that one rhetorical question deserved another. "Look, you have those pin-prick bruises all over your ass and legs and the cane left welts. You need a night off. Wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
“My mind does; my body doesn’t.”  
  
His words hover in the air between you and somehow both of you just know that the game is over. You lean forward, put your hand on his face and pull him into a kiss that you have no intention of ending.  
  
~+~+~+~+~+~+ **  
**Your bodies unwind and shift from sitting to lying down, and he’s halfway underneath you; the resulting make out session forcing ancient feelings to fight their way to the surface. Justin has this way of making you forget how much older you are now, a way you’re addicted to. But there are realities surfacing as well—mainly two. One, that like or not his body needs a break from pain and intrusion and two, that your dick needs a crash cart and an over-written tragic scene from _ER_ to bring it back from the dead. And you can feel that he wants to fuck and his hand is creeping down to the waist band of your jeans. It breaks your heart but you stop it, whispering, _”I can’t tonight. I’m sorry.”_  
  
“I know,” he says and he means it, “But I can still touch you, can’t I?”  
  
“Yeah,” you admit feeling kind of stupid, but he catches on to that, too and admonishes you, “Will you stop, please? You think I expect things that I don’t.”  
  
“It’s not that; I just _want_ to be inside you.”  
  
His voice is quiet and sweet, “I know you do, but a little anticipation never hurt either of us,” and then he grabs you hard and kisses you. You end up grinding against him anyway. “ _You little twat,_ ” you tease him.  
  
He tugs at your shirt, helping you get it off, and then he’s kissing your chest. You look down and play with his hair, and you don’t stop him when he makes it down your torso to the button on your pants. It pops free with little effort, and he somehow gets you on your back. There was a time when you’d be mortified for him to see you half-hard, much less touching you, but if he has to trust you, then you have to trust him. Yet, your clothes keep coming off and his don’t.  
  
~+~+~+~+~+~+ **  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
**  
You can tell how much he wants you; you can hear it when he moans or sighs in frustration, and when you run your lips across his cock, he lets the word, “ _Fuck_ ,” escape and float away. You know that this is when he’s exactly like you--when his desire and fear get all tangled up. You proceed with caution, “Brian, I’ll stop if you don’t like this.” He doesn’t respond so you try again, “I’m serious. It’s your body.”  
  
“ _Don’t,_ ” he says.  
  
“Don’t what?”  
  
“Don’t stop.”  
  
He pulls on your hair when you take him in your mouth, and his hips begin to move almost fucking your face. And then he takes charge a little, pulling your mouth off his cock and pushing it down to his balls. With ample help from him, you move so you’re between his legs, and he strokes himself as you lick him. His free hand yanks on the back of your sweater; he wants to feel skin against skin, so you stop to discard it for him. His legs wrap around your torso, holding you down, and you hear the sheets sliding and, “ _Sunshine,_ ” over and over. His hands are strangling the rungs in your headboard when your lips move to kiss the inside of his leg and a desperate sound comes out of him continues when you ask him to, “Roll over, okay?”  
  
“Think about me across your lap,” you say as you begin to rim him. “About how badly I want to be there, to please you—“  
  
“ _Christ._ ”  
  
“About me coming all over your legs—“  
  
“ _God._ ”  
  
“ _Without_ permission.”  
  
He kicks the mattress a couple times, and you unzip your pants, pulling them down just enough to free your dick. You press, trying to get inside him and that’s all it takes, “Oh my god… _fuck_ …I’m sorry.”  
  
“You just splooged all over me, didn’t you?” Brian asks.  
  
“It’s your fault for being so fucking tight.”  
  
“This is why we use lube,” Brian suggests.  
  
“Um, yeah. I know that. There’s been at least a pint of it inside me since I was a teenager.”  
  
“Talk about tight,” he teases you.  
  
You fuss with your pants to get them all the way off and then clean him up, smiling at the happy expression on his face. “You’re the one who said that everything doesn’t have to be perfect every time.”  
  
“Man, was I ever right about that.”  
  
You smack him on the butt.  
  
~+~+~+~+~+~+ **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** Soon the two of you are lying in bed talking and Justin asks you, “When you talked to your doctor the other day, what did he say about…you know….” He’s referring to the debate you’ve been having with yourself about erectile dysfunction meds. “Well,” you respond, “He asked me how many times a _month_ I have intercourse and when I told him that was way too much math, that it was at least twice a day, and he laughed at me.”  
  
“Laughed?”  
  
“Yeah, he seems to think that being cancer free and fucking twice a day isn’t anything to complain about.”  
  
“Well, he’s kind of right,” Justin says.  
  
“So, then, I had to tell him that I don’t like limits.”  
  
“And he told you ‘tough shit,’ right?”  
  
“Pretty much. I got some samples off him, though.”  
  
“So that’s what you took?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What’s it feel like?” he asks you.  
  
“You can take some and try it,” you offer.  
  
“Oh god, no. I’m a bottom who gets in trouble for jerking off too much. I’ll just get punished even more.”  
  
You lean in and kiss his cheek, “Which is why I completely expect you to try it anyway.”  
  
“No, I’m really going to try to be more obedient,” he says with such sincerity that you bust out laughing.  
  
~+~+~+~+~+~+ **  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
** You figure if Brian keeps laughing at you, you’ll offer to take his dick out to the garage, get the jumper cables out and try to restart it for him, but he catches the expression on your face and stops himself. “Are you tired?” you ask him, and he shakes his head ‘no’ so you suggest something to him by just taking his hand and pushing it down between your legs and whispering, “ _You can shave me tonight if you want.”_  
  
“I was planning on doing that in the morning,” he counters.  
  
“What if we’re busy doing something _else_ in the morning?”  
  
He leans over and kisses you behind your ear, “Okay. Get the lights. I’ll get the stuff.”  
  
……  
  
You don’t know that night how much of a ritual this will become for the two of you, how it will signify that the modified D/s relationship developing between you thrives best during the simplest of tasks. It becomes a quiet time where you can re-establish your commitment to him and this cagey dance you enjoy. You lie very still, just staring at his face while he works; you move only when he requests that you do. “I do nice work,” he compliments himself when he’s done, patting you dry with a towel.  
  
Later when the lights are off again, he gets back into bed and pulls you against him in one motion, your back pressed into his chest. “I love the smell of shaving cream,” you say in the dark.  
  
“Me, too.” And then he’s touching his recent handiwork, whispering in your ear about how much shaving you bare turns him on.  
  
……  
  
“Brian?” you ask.  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“I know when we had that talk tonight…that we didn’t exactly get to what you wanted to discuss…about my limits and all.”  
  
“It’s okay; don’t worry about it.”  
  
“It’s just that we have this agreement, you know? You get to make the rules and I get to break them because I don’t even know what they are. If I don’t get to know the rules, then you shouldn’t know all the answers. It’s what makes this work, don’t you think?”  
  
“Mmm hmm.”  
  
“You don’t have to agree with me. I mean, your point of view is as valid as mine.”  
  
“Justin,” he says with his chin resting on your shoulder, “It’s okay. Sometimes what you don’t say reveals the answer,” and then he kisses your neck.  
  
“Sometimes I think I don’t even know what my own limits are, and that’s hardly fair to you, but I don’t know what to do if I don’t know, you know?”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“Brian?”  
  
……  
  
“Brian, are you asleep?”  
  
“Hmm? …Love you…too.”  
  
You lie in his arms as his body grows heavy with sleep all around you. He snores softly right behind your ear.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 29  
  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
** _8:23 a.m., Sunday, the next morning_  
  
You awake to Brian sleeping next to you, not turned away like usually happens, so you carefully slink out of bed, piss, and then close yourself in your walk-in closet to take advantage of the three-way mirror, to examine yourself: every bruise, every red stripe, every inch of you that actually hurts now. And the more you look, the more turned on you get, the more you picture yourself across Brian’s lap somehow being made to pay for being so easy to mark. You’re startled when the closet door opens and there’s Brian, nude and leaning on the door jamb, his morning erection in his hand.  
  
“Um, what the fuck are you doing?” he asks you.  
  
“Just looking…at myself…at the bruises,” you say but it comes out tentatively for some reason. Maybe it’s the look on Brian’s face…  
  
“C’mere,” he says, holding his hand out. You give him yours and let him lead you back to your bed. Your heart starts to beat a little faster because you want this morning seduction; you’re dying for it. Brian lies back and pulls you close, his possessive hand on the back of your head, pressing your face into his chest. You want him to fuck the daylights out of you, but his eyes are halfway closed and his hips are rising to meet your face ever so slightly. He steers his cock to your mouth and very, very quietly says, “ _Please._ ”  
  
There’s an urgency behind his moan when you taste him, and you get the impression that he’s running some scenario in his head, something that’s turning this into more than just an everyday blow job, and you kind of want to ask what that scenario might be but, then again, not knowing is kind of hot. His fingers tear through your hair, your spit runs over his balls, and then he sort of rolls both of you onto your sides so he can fuck your face and feel you swallow.  
  
“God, the things I want to do to you,” he says wistfully when it’s over, hugging your face between his legs. “You have no idea.”  
  
……  
  
The rest of the morning feels very off kilter. Brian doesn’t want to spend the day in bed; he wants you in the shower and then getting ready to run errands. Only he’s not dressed for the weekend errands he’s describing to you—getting groceries, getting the car detailed, getting a Christmas tree because Gus will be coming in a couple weeks. He’s dressed like he’s going clubbing: tight jeans, a black shirt under a black sweater, a cologne he never wears to work. Something’s up. He ignores your questions and focuses on dressing you, insisting that you don’t wear a turtleneck despite the fact that it’s freezing outside; he even suggests you don’t wear your ‘gross weekend underwear’ either.  
  
“All right, what’s going on, Brian?” you ask.  
  
“And don’t wear those crappy sneakers.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Well, do what you want, but you’re better than those shoes, that’s all I’m saying.”  
  
 _What the fuck is that supposed to mean?_ you wonder as you put on some brown suede loafers after he loans you a pair of his brown socks, adding, “Here. These don’t have holes.”  
  
+~+~+~+~+~+  
As the errands are run, you start to get this creepy feeling, creepy like maybe you’re really in trouble, like maybe you should’ve locked yourself in the dungeon and refused to leave with him. Each stop you make, Brian gets more and more matter-of-fact; the man you married who _loves_ to shop has disappeared and been replaced with another guy (just as good looking) who wants nothing but to get these stupid tasks finished. At lunch, he doesn’t even let you decide for yourself. He orders for you and lets you have all the wine you want. You find that utterly bizarre because matter-of-fact Brian never has any patience for slightly-tipsy-Justin. By the time you get to the last stop—picking out a Christmas tree—you know something is up. He arranges to have it delivered tomorrow, and then turns and smiles at you, taking your gloved hand in his. “You look hot today,” he says.  
  
“You dressed me; you’re just complimenting yourself.”  
  
“We can share the compliment,” he adds as he opens your car door for you.  
  
“Why don’t you _share_ with me what we’re doing?” you ask.  
  
Brian’s hands are at ten and two on the steering wheel, confident black-leathered fingers wrapped tightly, as he says, “That attitude doesn’t sit well with me.” He puts the car in gear and pulls into traffic and then finishes, “But, you still look very hot.”  
  
“…Thank you.”  
  
“That’s better,” he smiles.  
  
Brian drives down Liberty Avenue looking for a parking space. He finds one in front of Torso and asks you to wait in the car. “I’ll come get you in a minute.” You have to crank your neck backwards to see where he’s going, and you turn right back around and stare out the front window after you watch him walk into the leather store.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 30  
** **

****BRIAN’S POV  
  
**** Your conversation with Justin before he fell asleep the night before has gotten you thinking about your limits, his limits, and how to best understand his motivations in this facet of your relationship. You have plans for him today; it won’t be like any other Sunday afternoon he’s experienced. (You purposely get him a little buzzed just to take the edge off.) The clerk at the leather store recognizes you while helping another customer. He holds up a finger to signal _just a minute_ , and disappears into the back once he can get free. “Mr. Kinney, would you like to inspect it, make sure it’s exactly what you wanted?” he asks, returning and handing you a six inch square black velvet box. You open the lid and examine what’s inside, and it’s perfect. You hand him your gold American Express card and tell him to run it. “This and everything for your appointment this afternoon?” he wants to know. You nod, and he hands you a receipt to sign. The total is over eleven thousand dollars.  
  
When you return to the car to get Justin, you can tell he’s nervous, but when you extend your hand to help him out, he accepts it and doesn’t let go. “Brian, what’s going on?” he asks you. “I think I have a right to know.”  
  
“You do, and you will in about five minutes.” You squeeze his hand and smile at him as you approach the door to the leather store again. He loves the smell of leather; he’ll like this. (You hope.)  
  
“Mr. Kinney,” the clerk acknowledges, “Everything is ready.” You walk Justin to the back of the store and open a door that appears to go to a stockroom, but instead you’re both standing in a foyer painted black and at the top of a set of rickety wooden stairs that seems to descend into a basement. You step down two steps so you’re eye level with him, “Last night you said that you don’t know where your limits are, remember?”  
  
“Yes.” His eyes shift back and forth eyeing the new environment.  
  
“Well, today I’ve arranged for you—well, both of us—to take a tour through that headspace, to help you out a little.”  
  
“A tour?”  
  
“Yes, for a few hours. And, as usual, I need to know that you trust me.”  
  
“I do,” he says, but you find it less than genuine. He looks more than a little freaked out, but you just keep going, “And that you remember your safe word.”  
  
“Albatross.”  
  
“Okay, then,” you say with a smile as you begin to go down the stairs. “You need to do what you’re told…regardless of who tells you.”  
  
“Brian,” he says with a hint of objection in his voice.  
  
“Starting now,” you say as you reach the bottom of the stairs and open another wooden door that opens into a lobby with a high-end marble-like tiled floor. The man behind the check in counter who’s dressed in black from head to toe greets you by name and then asks, “This is seventy-two?”  
  
You nod, “Justin, put your hand up on the counter.” He does and you laugh a little, “Take your glove off.” Justin looks a little embarrassed, but does what you say, his eyes growing wider as the man who doesn’t even look at him takes the lid off an industrial Sharpie marker and writes ‘72’ on the back of his hand. When he’s done, he hands you an envelope, “Room number four is yours, Mr. Kinney. Both signatures are required.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. Enjoy your afternoon.”


	6. Maintenance 31-40

**~♥~MAINTENANCE 31-40~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 31  
  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
The room Brian takes you to has a crooked, rod iron number four nailed to it and you expect it to be a changing room, but it’s much bigger. It’s about the size of Brian’s study only the back half of it is all mattress. You sit on the edge of this odd wall-to-wall bed while Brian hangs both of your coats on a hook and makes sure the door is locked. You can hear other people talking in other rooms and other sounds that remind you of Babylon’s backroom minus the thumpa-thumpa. Brian sits down beside you, his body turned sideways, his leg making a triangle. He has a black box sitting in the middle of that triangle. Without even thinking about it, you turn your body and sit the same way so your shins are parallel. “You okay?” he asks you, and you nod. “Okay, which do you want to know first: what’s in this box or where we are?”  
  
“Box,” you blurt out.  
  
Brian smiles and hands it to you, “Open it.”  
  
You crank the top open slowly and before you can see exactly what it is, you can smell it…brand new leather. Black leather, to be exact, a black leather collar decorated with silver rivets, every other one sparkling with what looks to be…, “Wait, are these diamonds?”  
  
“They are. Do you like it?” You feel instantly inferior compared to this gift, even as Brian is taking it out of the box and putting it around your neck. “Look in the mirror. What do you think?” You turn around because the mirror’s behind you and get to admire it and watch Brian admire you at the same time. “Brian, it’s gorgeous…but I don’t think I…deserve it yet.”  
  
“Which is precisely why you do.”  
  
“I’m serious, Brian. I feel guilty about this,” you admit still fondling the piece.  
  
“Well, I know how you feel about collars that come in a kit, so I wanted to get you something special, something just for you.”  
  
“I love it.” Another blurt. “It’s so soft against my neck, like really comfortable.”  
  
“Good.” Brian pulls out the envelope the guy at the front handed him and removes a pack of folded paper. “Now c’mere; we need to go over some paperwork.”  
  
~+~+~+~+~  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Justin settles back against you as you lean against the wall and open the packet of forms. You can see him in the mirror, watch his face as you tell him that the two of you are in a sex club called ‘Release’ located beneath the leather store. “Release is a private club for members only,” you explain, “And participation in the club is confidential. You may recognize some people, but you’re not to exploit that.”  
  
“Wait,” he asks, “Are there breeders in this club?”  
  
You laugh, “No. It’s a gay club. They have afternoon sessions every Saturday and Sunday, alternating with gays and lesbians. You won’t see any pussy today.” His body relaxes a little, “So it’s all guys today?” “Right,” you affirm, “Lesbians were here yesterday, but they’ve disinfected since then. Anyway,” you continue with Justin’s hands hanging off your arms, “Some participants are in disguise or wearing masks, others aren’t. Regardless, if you see someone from the session in the real world, you don’t acknowledge them. They’re very serious about this.”  
  
“Okay. I understand.”  
  
You hold him a little tighter, “Now, the other thing you need to understand is that you are nothing but a slave here. Your name has been replaced with a number, and your presence here is that of observer. You are to call me ‘sir’ and not use my name. You may speak to other slaves, but you may not speak to or make eye contact with any Master without my permission. You will be punished if you do.”  
  
“How do I know which is which?”  
  
“The slaves are nude. The Masters are dressed in all black.”  
  
“I have to take my clothes off?” he asks with a bit of trepidation in his voice.  
  
“No, not as an observer. You’re allowed to observe for one session without participating.”  
  
“All slaves follow the same rules and a Master will not try to trick you into breaking a rule, and although you’re not allowed to speak to them without my permission, they are allowed to speak to you and probably will. In fact, they may advise you if they see that you’re about to do something unacceptable. You need to listen and stare at the floor.” You have a little trouble gauging Justin’s reaction, so you stop reading for a minute and kiss the back of his neck, your lips sliding along his new collar. “ _Keep going,_ ” he whispers.  
  
“Okay. You may be asked to help someone with a scene, and it’s fine for you to participate as long as you follow the rules. The group uses two safe words that you can say to any Master at any time: ‘yellow’ if you’re involved in something that is getting too intense or moving too fast and ‘red’ if you need something to stop immediately. If you use a safe word and I’m not right there, someone will bring you to me or me to you immediately. You can use our safe word, ‘albatross,’ with me only and using it means we leave right away. Do you understand that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Okay, as a slave at Release, you're no better than a hole, than something to fuck. You're here to give other people pleasure, namely me. You may see, be subject to, or be asked to participate in many activities including but not limited to: caning, flogging, bondage, gagging, spanking, paddling, whipping, gang bangs, suspension, electric stimulation, milking, clamping, orgasm demand or denial, verbal or physical humiliation, tickling, stockade usage, water torture, enemas, etc.”  
  
“Gee, that’s all?”  
  
“And, once again, you pick the worst time to be a smart ass. Let me get through this so we can go in, okay?”  
  
“Okay. Sorry.”  
  
“You need to sign this form agreeing not to hold Release liable for anything.”  
  
“I have to sign a release to go into Release?”  
  
“Yes, and rest assured that you’re the one millionth person to make that joke.” You hand Justin a pen and watch him sign and then you sign below him, signifying that you’re responsible for his well being in every way. “Let me go turn these in. I’ll be right back.” When you return, you open the door and motion for him to come with you, reminding him about not making eye contact as you enter the room.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 32**   
**BRIAN’S POV** **

**  
**Seconds after the door to Release was opened for you, Justin is squeezing your hand and trying to pull you back. You tug back and pull him into the club consisting of one gigantic concrete room filled with about forty or fifty patrons. There are several stations set up, some active and some not, and lots of guys milling around and talking to one another. You lead Justin over to the wall and stand in front of him, blocking his view of the rest of the room. “What’s the matter?” you asked him quietly.  
  
He’s clearly freaking out, “It’s just…I just…have questions.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“About what you said, that I can’t talk to people, but I can talk to you, right?”  
  
“Of course you can. You just can’t speak to another Master without my permission, but you can speak to other slaves and to me any time you want.”  
  
Justin peered around your arm and then came right back, “There’s a lot of guys here.”  
  
“It’s a popular weekend haunt. Now, come with me. We’re just going to walk around and observe for awhile.” As you urge Justin into the crowd, he keeps a firm grip on your hand. You lean down and tell him, “I’m not going to leave your side without telling you. Will you please relax?”  
  
“Oh my god, look, Brian,” he says pointing, “That’s Todd.” And although he’s right, you take no pleasure in reminding him that, “This is a confidential environment. Don’t point at people and out them for Christ’s sake.”  
  
“I’m sorry. It’s just I haven’t seen him in years.”  
  
“Well, maybe that’s because he’s been down here,” you tease him and then you both stand in silence watching Todd, once a backroom institution and now a slave chained to a wheel, being flogged by a couple of men in black leather. Justin follows you over to folding chairs arranged in a huge semi-circle and then sits down beside you. “Look, you can sit here today because you’re observing, but under normal conditions you need to kneel on the floor next to me.” Right as you finish your sentence, an older guy you sort of recognize from some bath house comes over and sits down next to you. Justin stares down at your entwined fingers. “Welcome to Release,” the man says, “This his first time, huh?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s Seventy-two,” you offer.  
  
“Man, that makes me feel old. My usual slave is Thirty-three.”  
  
“Usual?” you ask.  
  
“I’m babysitting today. A couple of the guys are out of town, so I have Forty-one and Fifty-nine with me. Anyway, I just wanted to welcome you…and your slave.” You thank him, and he gets up to leave but stops once he’s standing in front of Justin and says, “Damn, you’re beautiful. It’ll be _nice_ having you around here.”  
  
You sigh, “If he were only as obedient has he is pretty, we’d probably be doing something else today.”  
  
“Oh, you think that now,” the man says, “But trust me, this place gets addictive. There’s more freedom in restriction than you’d ever imagine.” You smile and nod at the guy and again, he turns to Justin, saying, “Wow, that’s a really nice collar you’re wearing. I imagine you’ll be working that off for the rest of your life.” You can tell Justin’s nervous, so you give the guy a look that basically asks him to give you both some room, so he apologizes for being too forward and disappears back into the crowd.  
  
“That guy is kind of weird,” Justin says quietly.  
  
“He’s fine; he was just trying to friendly…and honest with you. And you can stop looking down now; I want you to look around and see what you think.” And with that, you urge him to his feet and begin walking the perimeter of the room seeing guys doing some of the very things the two of you do in the privacy of your own home. Justin stops on a dime though when he sees a slave chained to a platform (on his back with his legs tied to plywood planks at a ninety degree angle) where about eight guys are in line to fuck him. He doesn’t want to walk away, so you stand there with him and watch other slaves smear copious amounts of what looks like industrial lube on the slave's crack, preparing him to get pounded over and over.

**  
**~+~+~+~+~ **  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
** You don’t know why, but you can’t look away; you want to watch this; you want to hear him moan every time a new guy steps up and unzips his pants. You can’t even breathe and just keep backing up into Brian who has his arms around you. You want to tell him that this is a very early fantasy of yours, but part of you is afraid that he’ll offer you up next. But this man you’re married to, he’s not stupid; he knows you’re aroused and you know he knows because sometimes he’s kissing the top of your head and whispering things you pretend not to hear. One of the guys in line who’s really hot looks over at Brian and smiles, and then his eyes move to your face and the smile goes away.  
  
You stand there and watch the whole thing, watch this kid who can’t even be thirty be freed from his restraints by a man you assume is his Master. He carries him out of the room using the door you came through minutes before and then disappears. Some slaves walk over and sanitize the platform for the next person.  
  
Again, you move slowly with Brian around the room, your eyes perusing everything and stopping for awhile to look up at a slave in a cage suspended above everyone. Every time someone catches him masturbating, he’s shocked with a cattle prod by his Master. The man gives Brian the prod, and Brian doesn’t waste a second shocking the slave on his ass. “You’re probably the reason he’s jerking off,“ the Master tells Brian. “He has a fetish about new people.” You can see the number on the slave's hand as he grips the bars of his cage; it reads ’60.’  
  
As you come full circle to where you came in, that same cage Master comes up and tells Brian that the demonstration will begin in about five minutes. Brian thanks him and the man jokes, “He can’t stay in that cage all day.”  
  
“What demonstration?” you ask Brian. “What’s he talking about?”  
  
“You’re going to get a special show today since we’re new and all,” he explains and then pulls you back out of the way as Masters and slaves start moving platforms and furniture to make room.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 33  
** **

****JUSTIN’S POV  
  
**** As the room is being transformed, you’re watching Brian out of the corner of your eye. He’s not assisting anyone, but that’s probably because he has a boner the size of Texas that he’s stroking in a rather clandestine manner, his hand in his pocket. He has the other arm draped over your shoulders and sometimes it scoots back a little so he can play with the back of your hair. You decide that this is the right moment to tell him, “I’ve got to pee.” He smiles and points you to the door, “In the lobby, I presume. Do you need me to go with you?”  
  
“No, I’m fine. Just don’t come before I get back, okay?”  
  
“I never come without you. You’re the one who’s cornered the market on that,” he says with a sly look on his face. So while all that wine from lunch was making a dash for your bladder, you walked the edge of the room, found the door and opened it. The man working the front desk looks up and over his shoulder, his brow furrowing once you’re all the way in the lobby.  
  
“Where’s your Master, Seventy-two?”  
  
You immediately put your head down because the guy gives off a weird alpha vibe, “I need to use the restroom. Brian said it’s okay.”  
  
“You can look at me when I’m talking to you. I’m not a Master when I’m working the front desk,” he informs you, laughing a little. “Bathroom is down the hall to the left.” He points the way and you smile and thank him. The bathroom looks way too upscale compared to the dungeon you were just in. Whoever designed this place, you decide, is completely schizo. Finally emptying your bladder gives you a bit of courage so once again, you approach the front counter, re-earning the attention of the attendant. “Yes, Seventy-two?” he says.  
  
You take a deep breath, “Um, I was wondering…what do I do if I want to not be an observer anymore and, you know, participate?”  
  
His eyes narrow and seem to slice you, “Are you actively disobeying your Master? Because no one here will tolerate that; I promise you.“  
  
“No, no, not at all. I mean, I didn’t ask him, but he’s about to come in his pants in there and I don’t want him to decide to….you know…without me.”  
  
The man grins, “Okay, okay. Calm down. Get undressed. I’ll unlock your room for you so you can put your clothes away.” By the time he’s turned around and gotten the key for room four, you’re already naked, like it was a race or something. You feel ungodly stupid standing there in nothing but your brand new collar when he lets out a big laugh, “Jesus. You didn’t have to strip down in the lobby. You need to chill a little.”  
  
He opens the room for you and watches as you set your clothes on the weird bed. You should feel nervous being all naked in front of this guy, but you don’t for some reason--maybe because he doesn’t seem that affected by it or something. “Can I ask you a question, sir?” you ask.  
  
“Why not? You’re on a roll here.”  
  
“How come there are only like eight rooms but there are like fifty guys in there?”  
  
He locks your room as he answers you, “Because the rooms are just for new slaves. Sometimes they need a place to regroup after everything. The old-timers, they don’t.”  
  
“I thought it was for people to fuck,” you say wondering why you seriously can’t just keep your mouth shut.  
  
“I’m sure fucking goes on. Everybody regroups in their own way, Seventy-two.”  
  
“What do the numbers mean?” you continue, secretly blaming your loquaciousness on the wine.  
  
He steps back behind the front desk and lifts up a big leather book with a burgundy ribbon marking the open page, “It’s just a roster. Seventy-two was the next slave number. You’re our newest one. Congratulations.”  
  
“Thank you,” you say like an idiot.  
  
“Seventy-two?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Why don’t you rejoin your Master? Social hour is over.”

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 34** **

****JUSTIN’S POV  
**** _so it makes you wise to break the rules_  
  
Confidence can be a funny thing, a slippery thing that slinks away from you the moment you desperately need it--like when it vanishes upon your re-entry to the dungeon. You aren’t prepared for what you see. The slaves in the room, all but Sixty, are kneeling in front of the stage that was assembled in your absence and flanking them, behind each one, is a Master, standing and staring…at you.  
  
Your eyes scan the room rapidly for Brian, and at first you don’t see him so your heart starts to pound like crazy and then you spy him leaning against a concrete pillar, his arms folded, the look on his face—it scares you. He doesn’t smile or nod or anything. How can he keep his face so blank? And then the cage Master, the one who gave Brian the cattle prod earlier, you see him standing on the stage, and he’s looking right at you and motioning for you to come forward. “Seventy-two,” he says, “How nice of you to join us.” You don’t instruct your feet to move, but they do anyway, shuffling on the cold floor, obeying this man you don’t even know. As you walk toward him and his authority, you get this insane rush beneath your skin like a thousand microscopic icicles just broke all at once.  
  
You try to kneel when you get to him, but he won’t have it, his hand—rough—gripping your elbow and raising you right back up, so high that you end up on the stage instead of hiding behind it. This time when you try to look at Brian who’s off to your left, you’re instructed not to, “Look anywhere but here.” Sixty is maybe three feet away from you kneeling on an upholstered bench, and the cage Master is right in front of your face; you can smell his odd cologne and even the leather he’s wearing. It smells kind of cheap.  
  
“Seventy-two, do you know how to listen?” he asks you.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Well, I find that hard to believe, but we’ll see. You’ve put me in a very awkward position here. I’m the Head Master today, and I take my responsibilities very seriously, and I was in charge of making sure that you and your lover had an observation session worthy of the work we do here.” You don’t know what to say to that, and you try to look down again, and his thick fingers are under your chin and making that impossible. “I thought you just told me you know how to listen.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“You don’t like looking at me? Is that it?”  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
“You’d just rather look at your lover, right?”  
  
You can’t fathom the punishment for lying so you don’t, “Yes, sir.”  
  
He sighs, “See, if you had kept your clothes on and done as you were instructed, you’d be right next to him right now, but instead, you’re my problem. You’re actually fucking up something that we,” – he makes a sweeping motion to indicate all of the other participants --, “That we prepared for _you_ as an observer.”  
  
“I apologize,” you whisper.  
  
“Turn around,” the man says, so you do, your toes wrapping around the edge of the plywood. “Put your hands behind your head.” You obey that command as well, interlacing your fingers. Seconds pass…and then you feel the unmistakable slice of a cane against your ass. It’s the worst sting you’ve ever felt; this guy has had a lot of practice with a cane. “Turn back around,” he tells you, and you do and then the lecture begins…  
  
“Seventy-two, from the moment you walked in here today, we, every one of us, could tell exactly what you are. You’re a spoiled-rotten bitch, a bottom who gets off watching a top struggle to maintain his authority, and the only thing I want to hear out of your cock-sucking little mouth is, ‘Yes, sir.’ Is that clear?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” You start to shake inside and wonder if this man can tell.  
  
“You think that everything’s a game, that we should feel honored that you’ve joined us here today. But you’re nothing to us but another one of them,” – another sweeping motion; this time to indicate the other slaves --, “You’re just another set of holes to fuck. You may come in here with diamonds around your neck and a very expensive ring on your finger, but you’re going to leave here on your knees.” And then the cage Master turns to Brian and says, “You weren’t kidding when you said he isn’t house broken. I mean, it’s clearly not for lack of trying. The marks tell the whole story.”  
  
And finally Brian speaks—although not to you, “I’ve done everything I know how to do. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”  
  
......  
  
“Well, I guess it’s time to find out,” the cage Master offers. “Now,” he declares, taking you by the arm and leading you around Sixty on the bench to the front of the stage, “Now we’re going to have a little show and tell. Seventy-two, I’d like you to look at all your fellow slaves and tell me what you have that they clearly do not.”  
  
You scan the floor where the slaves are kneeling, back and forth, back and forth, and notice that everyone has a collar so it’s not that and everyone is naked like you are and the only thing you can think of you blurt out, “Blond hair?” And the entire room begins to laugh. “Okay, that was wrong,” you add, but in your defense, no one in that room is as blond as you are.  
  
“Try again.”  
  
All you can think of is a bank account in the Caymans, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to say that so you just shake your head and apologize, “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know. I mean, unless, it’s that I’m new, but that’s not something I have so I’m sorry; I don’t know. Sir.”  
  
“Well, maybe this will help you figure it out,” he tells you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something lacy and pink. “Here, maybe if you put these on, you’ll be able to figure it out. The dykes leave them behind every once in a while.” You take what he’s handing you, realizing that it’s a pair of pink panties, and then you immediately know what you have that none of the other slaves have: an erection.  
  
“Put those on, Seventy-two. See, if you had waited for your Master to transition you into becoming a full slave, you would’ve known that slaves don’t have erections at Release without permission and that not being able to control your own arousal tells us way more about what makes you tick than you’d ever want us to know. So now you’ll have two things that no other slave in here has.”  
  
The panties are sort of scratchy and too small and you feel like an idiot trying to stuff your cock inside them and you steal the quickest of glances over at Brian and his hand is in his pants, and he's looking right at you as if the connection between you is a denial that his zipper is inching down.

(Lyrics from _I Second that Emotion_ from Smokey Robinson and the Miracles.)

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 35  
** **

****JUSTIN’S POV  
**** _games, changes and fears_ ** **  
  
****The cage Master steps off the stage, walks a few steps away and then bends down and draws an ‘X’ on the floor with a piece of white chalk. “This is your spot,” he tells you, “I want you right here.” Your connection with Brian feels vibrant and faltering at the same time as you exit the stage platform to follow the instructions, and as soon as you’re on that ‘X,’ Brian is up and walking to the platform and standing next to Sixty who’s still kneeling on the bench. And though he’s not exactly with you, he’s watching you as the cage Master talks to you. “Seventy-two, I trust you’re familiar with a ball gag?” he asks as he’s handed one by another slave. “Open your mouth.” You stare at Brian as your mouth opens and accepts the red ball as it’s buckled behind your head. You feel the drooling sensation begin almost immediately though you try to fight it, sucking as much of it back in as you can knowing that it’ll be futile in a few minutes. Leather cuffs are placed around your ankles and your wrists and each pair is hooked together, and then the cage Master waves above your head and you look up to see a metal hook tied to a rope lowering above you. He grabs it as it swings and threads the chain holding your wrists between it before snapping it shut. Within seconds you can feel it tugging on you, pulling you up on your tiptoes; your body spins in a strange orbit as you try to steady yourself. “Comfortable?” the cage Master asks feigning sincerity. You nod, “Yes,” because you’re afraid if you don’t, he’ll keep pulling you up and leave you hanging in mid-air. “Good,” he says. Every time your body sways away from him, he palms your ass and pulls you back. After five or six times, he just keeps his hand right there.  
  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
 _and we should be together babe,  
but we're not_  
  
Sixty is waiting for you—anxiously and obediently—when you take your place on the stage. You’re a little unsettled because this is not exactly how you expected this afternoon to go. You wanted Justin to be sitting comfortably watching this demonstration and never in a million years thought he’d be watching you bound, gagged, and drooling—and wearing freaking panties. Every time you look at him, you get a weird shiver down your spine; maybe it’s that resilient look in his eyes or maybe it’s the fact that he’s still hard. Your allegiance is to Justin but he’s in good hands; your responsibility is to Sixty at the moment. You assume he’s in his mid-twenties from his floppy hair cut and know from his number that he’s only been a slave here for about a year, but he’s eager.  
  
Boy, is he eager.  
  
You stand in front of him and touch his smooth chest, his stomach, and every time your hand roams somewhere, he whispers, “ _Thank you, sir._ ”  
  
“You like when I touch you?” you ask him.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
He answers you still staring at the floor, “Because you’re very handsome, Sir.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“And you smell really good.”  
  
“Really? Do I smell like someone who’s about to punish you for a crime you didn’t commit?”  
  
“I hope so…Sir. I volunteered.”  
  
“I know you did. Was it just to get released from that cage, though? That’s what I’m wondering.”  
  
“No, Sir. It was to serve you.”  
  
“I’ve been told that you’re a bona fide pain slut. Is that true?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Well then, bend over. I'm ready for you to prove that to me."  
  
(Lyrics from Macy Gray's _I Try_.)

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 36** **

****JUSTIN’S POV  
  
**** Your toes are swishing back and forth over the ‘X,’ threatening to erase it, but you have bigger concerns, concerns about Brian pulling a black latex glove over his fingers, concerns about Sixty being afforded some kind of attention that belongs to you from someone who…belongs to you…in a position that, quite frankly, _belongs to you._ “This was what I was going to demonstrate for you today,” the cage Master says to you pointing to Sixty on the stage who’s on his hands and knees, his face lowered between his palms. “But then you had to change our plans, so now your partner gets to run point and I get to babysit you.” Brian has a wooden clothespin and a ball of string in his hand, and you watch him carefully kneading the skin on Sixty’s thigh and then applying the pin resulting in a cry of pain from Sixty. The string runs through the mouth of each clothespin as Brian works his way up Sixty’s inner thigh to his ass. Soon Sixty looks like a porcupine, a very uncomfortable one at that. Brian applies the pins across the slave’s ass and then back down his other leg. “It’s called ‘the zipper,’” the cage Master says as your body starts to sway again and bumps into him. By the time Brian finishes, Sixty is shaking and begging to touch himself and Brian obliges him. You stare, still drooling, as he pumps lube into his glove and carefully fingers Sixty as he masturbates. “Anyone who can take that kind of pain, deserves some pleasure; don’t you think?” the cage Master asks you. You nod, and he pinches your ass hard, giving you some idea of the pain Sixty is in. You forget your current status and give him an evil look because it really hurts and he laughs, “The pinch isn’t the problem; it’s when those pins come off that the pain really sets in. Fortunately for Sixty, though, you’re going to help him with that.”  
  
He reaches up, waving his hand again, and you feel the tension on the rope give way, letting your aching arms sag. The cage Master unhooks your wrists from the imposing metal hook and grabs you by the upper arm, instructing, “You’re going to take the stage now, too.” Your shackled feet shuffle toward Brian in tiny steps. Once you’re on the platform, Brian finally really looks at you in all your dungeon finery, giving you the vibe that he’s not impressed with what he sees. The cage Master is standing behind you like he’s preventing you for making a run for it as Brian approaches you, touching your gag with his ungloved hand. “Get that out of your mouth,” he orders you, “We need to put something else in it.” Your cuffed hands reach up and pop it out of your mouth so that the wet ball hangs around your neck. And then he meets your eyes with a steely gaze as he toys with the top of the panties you’re wearing. “Pull them down,” he demands and you struggle to do it with your hands bound and he just stands there and watches you like you’re the most tedious human being he’s ever met. “I want you underneath him,” he says pointing to Sixty who’s hands and knees are balanced on different platforms leaving three or four feet of open space beneath him. You try to kneel and sort of fall sideways and have to scooch across the platform to position yourself underneath him. “Is he hard?” Brian asks you after assuming his original position behind Sixty.  
  
“No, Sir.”  
  
“Well, help him out then. I’ve never seen someone with so much self-control.” His praise to Sixty elicits a, “Thank you very much, Sir,” from the slave. He starts fingering him again and Sixty starts to moan in response. Brian offers him a suggestion, “Sixty, perhaps you can gain some genital inspiration from Seventy-two’s unauthorized and yet raging erection,” and then to you, “Make sure he can see it, Seventy-two. I would be horrified if it went to waste.” He points to Sixty’s cock when it hardens, “You’re the official cum bucket today, Seventy-two. Start sucking.”  
  
Sixty’s cock isn’t impressive in the slightest. It’s nothing like yours or Brian’s--not as big, not as hard—and it even tastes boring. You watch Brian’s thighs from between the slave’s legs wishing you were across them instead of under this kid. Right when you’re about to get a good rhythm going, Sixty’s body shudders in extreme pain, and you realize that Brian and the cage Master pulled opposite ends of the zipper at the same time. Clothespins rat-a-tat-tat all over the stage. You reach up and try to serve as a prop for Sixty because he feels like he’s going to fall on top of you. The slave ends up coming all over your face. Every guy in the room is laughing as Brian squats down where you’re sitting and admonishes you, “Nice job, Seventy-two. You can’t even suck cock correctly.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Sir.”  
  
“Now all these good people think you don’t know how to swallow. What a fucking travesty.”  
  
……  
  
As the audience gets up, you see the door opening to the dungeon. Guys begin milling around, making plans for afterwards, and coming up and shaking Brian’s hand as they introduce themselves. The slaves are freed of their various shackles and some of them get dressed from the pile of clothes in a corner of the room. There’s a lot of smiling and joking around and then there’s the four of you still on the platform. “We need to wrap up,” the cage Master says to Brian, “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before Dave has to shut down. He has to pick up his son.”  
  
Brian nods and starts walking toward you with a pair of scissors in his hand. He squats down giving you a cross look as he snips either side of the panties trapped around your thighs and then yanks them free. “Wipe the cum off your face,” he advises you, offering them, and, “Get up.” After you clean your face, you watch the cage Master gather Sixty’s clothes from the corner pile and help him off the platform. “We have room five,” he tells him, “Come with me.” Brian gives him a conciliatory smile as the two of them walk to the lobby, and then he turns back to you just as you’re getting back on your feet, “Let’s go. Hurry up.”  
  
~+~+~+~+~ ** **  
BRIAN’S POV  
  
**** Twenty minutes later you’re pulling out of your parking space on Liberty Avenue. It’s after five thirty p.m., dark and drizzling. Justin is free of all of his latest dungeon attire except for the collar which he didn’t seem to want to take off. You watch him play with it for a second and then focus your eyes on the wet road and bright blurry headlights. “So, what did he say to you?” you ask Justin after you’re off Liberty Avenue and heading home. You’re referring to the conversation Geoff (the cage guy) had with Justin while you were in Geoff’s car talking to Evan, aka Sixty, a few minutes prior.  
  
Justin sighs, “He said that maybe this isn’t the right branch of the tree for me, but that he hopes I had a good time.”  
  
“Did you?” you ask.  
  
“I had a good time watching you. You were having a marvelous time.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
“I haven’t seen that predatory look on your face in years. It was like being thrown into a human episode of _Wild Kingdom_ or something set in the backroom.” His words concern you, but yet there’s no attitude behind them; they’re just very matter-of-fact, and then it’s his turn to ask you, “What did you say to Sixty?”  
  
“Well, that I was sorry I didn’t have actual time to sit with him and make sure he’s all right, that I had to pass that task off to Geoff.”  
  
“Is he all right?” Justin asks you.  
  
“Yeah, I think he was still in the headspace which concerned me a little because I don’t know him; I mean, I don’t know if that’s his normal behavior.”  
  
“He was definitely in subspace. His pupils looked like deep black holes. I hope he’s okay; that was painful, what you did to him.”  
  
Unknowingly, he gives you the opening you need, “Well, I wasn’t actually the one supposed to be doing it. I arranged for a demonstration of that punishment; you know, not thinking that you would do what you did. I mean, I’d hoped to be sitting comfortably next to you while you watched it.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Your tires _swish_ onto the freeway as you pick up speed. “Well, that was the punishment that I had planned for you yesterday. You know…the one that didn’t happen.”  
  
He turns and looks at you—and you flash on how handsome he looks—and says, “You mean because I got the ‘butt buzzer’ instead?”  
  
“Yes, it was far less intense.”  
  
“Like you would know that.” And again, the conversation stalls as he stares out the window as the shadowed trees lining the shoulder of the highway.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“Maybe we should wait and talk when we get home,” you offer. “It’s kind of hard to talk about this while I’m driving.”  
  
But Justin ignores your suggestion, “Are you angry at me because I got undressed?” and pivots the whole conversation.  
  
You supply an answer that’s about ninety percent true, “Absolutely not.”  
  
“I think you’re lying.”  
  
You ponder whether to double down on your lie or not as you back your wipers off a little. You don’t even know why you then make the decision you do, “There is no scenario on this earth in which I would be angry because you’re clothes came off.”  
  
“Maybe ‘angry’ isn’t the right word,” Justin surmises.  
  
You ride in the silence for the last seven minutes or so until you finally pull into your driveway and put the car in park. Justin is confused and tries to reach for the garage door opener. You block his hand, “Just relax a minute. I think we should talk before we go inside.”  
  
“About what?” he asks and still, he doesn’t seem the least bit angry, but you don’t believe him, and you don’t understand how this is supposed to work if you both think the other is angry and neither will confirm it. You take a deep breath and try a little honesty, the bit that feels safe to say, “Okay, I think you’re right. I think ‘angry’ is the wrong word. I don’t think this is about anger at all. I think it’s about…humiliation.”  
  
Justin turns in his seat, tucking his leg under the other and questioning, “In what way?”  
  
You proceed cautiously as if you’re still on that busy dark, wet highway, “I think you like it. Both sides of it…. I think that’s why you push it…you know…maybe….”  
  
He looks at you long and hard and then looks down at his hands in his lap; before you can react, he snaps his seat belt free, opens his car door and walks up your front sidewalk alone in the cold, icy rain.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 37** **

****BRIAN’S POV  
**** You sit in the driveway for a couple of minutes, quiet and a little stunned, before pulling into the garage and going inside. All of your plans for the afternoon were uprooted when Justin changed the situation; you’d planned on spending time with him in your reserved room afterwards; you wanted time to decompress with him mentally, emotionally, and physically, but circumstances conspired against you. You forage for a snack in the kitchen; it’s dinner time but you don’t think you’ll be eating anytime soon and then, at that second when you’re breaking your own rule about eating cheddar cheese, you see him in the almost-darkness. You drop the cheese in the sink…unbitten.  
  
Justin’s sitting at the kitchen table looking straight at the door you just came through, his hands folded together, the diamonds on his collar daring to sparkle in the moment. You don’t know what to do…at least, you mind doesn’t, but your body is shedding your overcoat onto the kitchen counter and standing there in front of him.  
  
You wonder if he’s breathing because you’re not.  
  
Words start to flow into your brain, breaking down crime scene tape to get to your impulse center to be sent into action and upon arrival they just stand there like you do...sinking in the quicksand.

  
~+~+~+~ ** **  
JUSTIN’S POV  
**** Torn up inside. You feel torn up inside and very naked, but not from the experience at Release, but rather from the transparent cravings inside you that never stop, that never go away. How did you become more obsessed with the sexual part of your relationship than Brian is? How is it fair to want this, to constantly think of him in terms of the pleasure he’s about to give you or giving you or keeping from you? How could you think that his obsession with sex was so superficial when yours feels deeper than a black hole at the bottom of the deepest ocean? Why do you want him every second you’re not having him? You ignore your insecurities and press your hands flat on the wooden table, telling him in a firm voice, “You just can’t talk to me like that, okay? You just can’t.”  
  
“Okay,” Brian concedes, “But why?”  
  
“Why are you always asking me questions? Ever since we got back into this part of our relationship, all you do is ask questions.”  
  
“I want answers, I guess.”  
  
You feel like you have to defend your territory and you’re not even sure why, “Maybe you should learn to live without them like I did for the first years of our relationship. Maybe you don’t get to have answers about this shit.” You aren’t proud of that response, but it’s coming from a very primal place that could care less what you think.  
  
Brian fears you when you get like this, evidenced by him asking permission to sit at the table with you, and this – exactly this – is your problem with this whole fucking scenario and so you inform him, “Why are you scared to sit at the table but not scared to take me to a professional dungeon on a Sunday afternoon? Don’t you think that’s a little fucking bananas?”  
  
“If you’re angry about today, that’s okay. You have every right to be.”  
  
You sigh, “I’m not angry about today. In a bizarre way, it was fun and really interesting, but you just sat there in our car less than an hour ago and told me that you were concerned about Sixty, about _his_ head space and then you ask _me_ , someone whose head space you practically dominate twenty-four/seven, a question like that. Where’s the respect for my fucking head space?”  
  
Brian doesn’t hold back, “Your head space? I protect that like it’s a fucking national park or something. That’s all this is about; that’s all it’s ever been about. How am I supposed to know that being cuffed and gagged and practically suspended from a ceiling in a strange dungeon with a bunch of really hard core guys would be okay with you, but _asking_ you about what the hell just happened there is off limits?”  
  
……  
  
You feel guilt stirring inside you, “Okay, that’s a valid point.”  
  
“Thank you,” he says defiantly.  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
…..  
  
A minute or so later, Brian comes back down to earth, “Why don’t we just go upstairs and relax in the Jacuzzi or something? Just bring it down a few notches. Are you okay with just that?”  
  
You smile a little, “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”  
  
And your diatribe about head space seems to have resonated with Brian because he holds your hand all the way up the stairs and once the water is starting up, his fingers fold inside the hem of your sweater. He pulls it off and then reaches in his pocket and offers you a blue little pill accompanied by a piece of lint, “Valium? I had some just in case.”  
You take it and swallow it dry.

  
~+~+~+~ ** **  
BRIAN’S POV  
**** Justin dims the lights in the bathroom and digs under the sink looking for, “A real candle? We have one don’t we? Not one of those flameless things?” You open a drawer and produce an old, beaten up looking cream-colored candle that he declares ‘perfect’ and then tells you to, “Light it with your lighter, okay?” You do as you’re told, watching as he sheds his collar and leaves the leather equivalent of thousands of dollars resting on the back of the toilet before getting into the swirling warm water; you join him soon enough, sitting behind him, letting the weight of his body leaning back against yours comfort you. It’s nice just to be able to touch him, your hands massaging his biceps. “Are you arms sore?” you ask.  
  
“Yeah, but that feels good.” He crosses one leg over his knee and starts massaging his foot, “My feet hurt, too. It’s not easy to try to balance on the balls of your feet like that.”  
  
“And yet you looked so hot doing it,” you observe.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Well, the panties weren’t really my thing; I would’ve preferred a black leather thong or something, but, yeah, it was hot.”  
  
“Everything you like is so pornographic,” he tells you in that snooty way you love.  
  
“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Sunshine. I saw the look on your pants when we got to that gang bang.” Justin becomes fairly quiet after you say that so you backtrack, “Never mind, I shouldn’t have said that. You just told me in the kitchen not to do that anymore. I take it back.”  
  
……  
  
Justin searches for your hands in the water and when he finds them, he presses them on his chest. “Why would I like something like that? It’s sick, isn’t it?”  
  
You hold him tighter and brush his damp hair off his neck so you can kiss that perfect curve. “I don’t think it’s sick.”  
  
“You’d let me do something like that?”  
  
“Honestly…I don’t think it would be easy for me, but if it felt good to you, I wouldn’t stop you.”  
  
He tilts his head back to see your face, “Are you being serious?”  
  
You kiss his earlobe, “We’ll go next weekend if you want. It’ll take me a week to be okay with it, and I want to be right there with you on the platform. I won’t do it any other way.”  
  
“I’m not saying I want to do it. Don’t go scheduling shit or anything. We’re just talking, okay?”  
  
“Okay, okay. Relax. I just like to know your fantasies—whatever they are,” you admit, but you don’t think Justin’s listening because he’s come loose from your arms and is turning around in the Jacuzzi so he can face you, his legs disappearing under the water. He’s emphatic when he speaks, hand gestures abounding, “No, wait. Listen to yourself. You’re agreeing to letting a bunch of hard core leather guys gang bang me. You don’t want that.”  
  
You feel a little defensive, “Well, yeah, I mean it’s not on my Christmas list—‘get Justin in a gang bang’—but if it chokes your chicken, I’m not going to deny you.”  
  
“Wait, are you saying that because there’s something insane _you_ want _me_ to agree to that chokes _your_ chicken or are you saying that because you want to see me get gang banged or--?”  
  
“No, neither. God no, I don’t want to see that.”  
  
He seems relieved beyond the usual, “Okay, thank god. Whew. You’re just saying it because you want to please me?”  
  
“Yes,” and now you’re relieved, “Yes, that’s what I want, to please you upside down and backwards. I want to fuck you so hard that you need glasses and a walker when I’m done with you. And then I wanna fuck you into a wheelchair and then into a coma,” but you immediately reconsider, “No, no coma. That was wrong. I don’t want you in a coma ever again. Um, I wanna fuck you so hard that you need anal reconstructive surgery.”  
  
He rolls his eyes at you, but still smiles, “Then why don’t you just do it?”  
  
You stare at him like he’s a rare animal at the zoo while underwater, you’re stopping his big toe from raping you. “Just because you got a pedicure for me doesn’t mean you can toe-fuck me, Jesus.”  
  
“Answer my question,” he insists.  
  
You prop his foot on your thigh, “Because we play this game now, this crazy game, and I really like this game, but at the same time, I feel like you’re never satisfied with it and then at that same time, I don’t want you to be satisfied with it because I like the challenge. …this makes my head hurt.”  
  
“Brian, maybe we should stop this maintenance thing. Maybe it’s too much.”  
  
“We shouldn’t make a decision like that when we’re all wrinkled and pruney,” you protest, adding, “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.” Justin rolls his eyes at you and gets out of the tub.

  
~+~+~+~ ** **  
JUSTIN’S POV  
**** Brian is up to something from the moment you’re out of the Jacuzzi; you can tell by the way he’s doting on you as he dries you off, even taking time to halfway dry your hair and then his. He leads you into your dark bedroom and stands by your bed taking you in his arms and informing you in a calm voice, “I don’t believe for a minute that you want this to stop. I think you need this.”  
  
“I do,” you say, but then you confess, “The deeper we get into this stuff, the needier I feel. And the needier I feel, the more guilt I feel.”  
  
“Guilt about what?” Brian asks leading you onto your bed. He sits and leans against the headboard and you straddle him and sit in his lap.  
  
“About being so demanding. I mean, after today, it’s pretty obvious that you’ll stop at nothing to satisfy me.”  
  
Brian smiles slyly and shrugs, “True.”  
  
“I mean, the dungeon, the collar, the field trip...you do all this for me. What do I do for you?”  
  
…...  
  
His hands slide down your back and curve around your ass, “Well, you do a helluva lot for me, but to keep this topical, I’ll just say...you bend over for me.”  
  
“Come on.”  
  
“I’m very serious; your _desire_ to be across my lap drives me crazy, and when you’re actually there, I have like a bliss blackout sometimes.” You believe him because he’s very hard. He continues, “But if you’re uncomfortable with where we are or where we’re going with this, then we need to talk about it.”  
  
You laugh, “Neither of us has any clue where this is going. That’s obvious.”  
  
Brian smiles, “It’s like an intense sexual scavenger hunt. Every time we figure out one clue, the next task is waiting.”  
  
An unprompted but necessary confession spills out of you, “Today, I felt like my task was to get you interested in _me_ again.”  
  
“Ah, okay. You were a little jealous, huh? That’s why you did what you did.”  
  
“I don’t see why that’s such a big deal. I thought if I made myself look like them, you’d pay attention to me.”  
  
“But I was paying attention to you until you left to use the bathroom and then came back sporting that trophy boner.”  
  
“I had no idea that was a rule—“  
  
“Exactly. And you know why you didn’t know?” Brian holds you firmly in place on his lap. “You didn’t know because you decided to be in charge when you weren’t. Had you waited, I would’ve gone over the full slave requirements and expectations _after_ today. I would’ve been able to help you with your personal limits inventory and every Dom in that room would’ve known exactly how and, more importantly, how _not_ to handle you.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah, and not only that, but we would’ve had plenty of time to talk about that afterwards in our room. I’d planned to spend some time with you--in there--naked.” Brian gives you a bright smile with his eyebrows raised after he says that, but then his face falls a little, “But you decided that you’d rather humiliate me--”  
  
“No,” you insist, “I wasn’t trying to do that; I swear.”  
  
“Then why in the world would you make it obvious that I have no control over you—when we’re in a _public dungeon_ for Christ’s sake?”  
  
Now you feel ashamed, “Brian, I swear; I didn’t even consider that.”  
  
Brian slips a hand behind your head and brings your face to his to kiss you, and when it’s over and he’s pulling away, he whispers, “ _Your wooden paddle...it’s hanging in front of the fireplace. Get it for me.”_

  
~+~+~+~ ** **  
BRIAN’S POV  
**** The wood is more than warm when Justin kneels next to you and rests the paddle on your legs; it’s hot. Burning hot. You’re holding three things in your hands--a black rubber cock ring, a thick black rubber plug, and a bottle of lube. When he sees these things and undoubtedly makes the calculation that he is way overdue for an orgasm, he tries to plead with you, “You have to believe me, Brian; I wasn’t trying to humiliate you. I would never do something like that.”  
  
“Your intentions don’t really matter to me; the outcome is the outcome. Sit back like you were,” you order him and he straddles your lap again, his hands pressing down on your shoulders when you touch his impetuous cock and his balls and make it clear that both are going through the ring. “This will strangle me,” he says quietly.  
  
“I know.”  
  
He rests his face on your shoulder, “This isn’t fair; I haven’t orgasmed all day.”  
  
“I know. That’s why I’m doing it. Otherwise, you’ll come all over me on the backside of the first swat.” Your first task done, your hands move behind him, pushing him against you, “Arch and relax your bottom.” He does what you say, clinging to you, his arms tangled around your neck as you work the plug inside him. When you’re done, you pull him off your shoulder (almost by the hair) and look at him; he looks desperately horny and helpless; you kiss him and thank him for obeying you. “Across my lap,” you indicate.  
  
It’s a session that makes you wish you had four hands: one to paddle with, one to hold him still, one to stroke yourself with, and one to comfort him as he goes through this, but you don’t, so you have to dispense with the last two for the time being. It’s common for him to come on your legs when you paddle his plug, but he can’t tonight; every impact rolls through him, the pain-pleasure-desire welling up in his shoulders and bleeding out through his vocal cords. You watch him carefully; he’s frustrated and doesn’t know what to do with his hands; they keep running over the sheets frantically looking for something; his face blushing like his ass. When, in spite of the pain, his legs are spread wide, you remove his plug and tease his hole with the tips of your fingers as you paddle his legs. He starts to tear at his hair, mumbling over and over, “ _Pleasefuckme, pleasefuckme, please._ ”  
  
You reach down and pull him up to a sitting position, lifting and spreading him so you can ease inside him, and again he conforms to your body like a steamy wet washcloth, clinging and begging, “ _Please let me come. I was a good boy. Please, Brian, please._ ”  
  
Removing the ring is no small task; you order him to be still so you don’t hurt him, but once removed, the rush of blood to his dick overwhelms him and his arms clamp down on you, “If I move, it’s over,” he says almost trembling in your arms.  
  
“Okay, okay, take a deep breath. Just calm down and let me lay you down.” You move him ever-so-slowly, pulling out and laying him down in front of you, taking your time as you get on top of him. “We’re gonna go slow,” you tell him brushing his hair off his damp forehead. “ _Slow_ ,” you say as you push inside him, “ _Slow, slow...slow._ ” You make love to him, your bodies lying on the mattress opposite of the way you sleep, tempering the force of your hips as the firelight dances in his hair. Everything is warm and urgently fragile and perfect, and you take your time with him, and when his eyes open, he looks at you like maybe he’s caught some of the control you have and he smiles at you and whispers, _“Brian Kinney, I love you slow much._ ” You laugh and kiss him and say, “Me, too, Sunshine. Me...too.”

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 38** **

****BRIAN'S POV  
  
**** You awake after that fuck to Justin sitting cross-legged on the bed with two bowls in his hand and a huge smile on his face. “What did you make?” you ask and grinning, he says, “Macaroni and cheese. The good kind. And don’t say you won’t eat it because I saw you almost eat that cheese downstairs.” He hands you a bowl and you scoff at the huge portion size, funneling half of yours back into his bowl. “That was hours ago,” you remind him, “It’s way too late for cheese.”  
  
“Eat. It,” he orders so you acquiesce because it’s the last order you’ll take from him tonight.  
  
……  
  
After dinner is your time with him, and he knows it. “How do you want me?” he asks when he returns from cleaning up dinner.  
  
“On your stomach,” you say. You straddle his legs and examine him—every bruise, every welt, every inch of disturbed skin. It’s the cruel trade off in this pleasure—blemishing his beautiful body. “Where’s your pain?” you ask him, “On a scale of one to ten.”  
  
“Four? I still feel pretty numb.”  
  
“I’ll leave pain killers on your night stand tonight. I think you’re going to be really sore tomorrow.”  
  
“I’m going to miss you tomorrow. That’s painful, too,” he says quietly.  
  
You lay down beside him, your hand on his back, “We need to talk about this week.”  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“I’m not going to spank you this week, at least through Thursday. Your body has been through enough.”  
  
He lifts his head, “Brian, no. Don’t say that now. Let’s just take it day by day.”  
  
“No,” you resist, “That never works with you. I want you to forget about it this week. Be productive; enjoy yourself without your hand in your pants.”  
  
He lays his head back down and sighs, “I hate this.”  
  
“Well, we can make it until next Sunday if you want to be a baby about it.”  
  
“No, I don’t want that.”  
  
“This week, we’re going to focus on obedience. Maybe you’ll be better at it when your mind isn’t cluttered with anticipation.” He starts to rise up and bitch again and you stop him, “I don’t want to hear that tonight. The decision is made. Understand?”  
  
Another dramatic sigh as his pretty blond head hits the pillow, “Fine, Brian.”  
  
You instruct him that he needs to be quiet, that he can close his eyes if he wants to, that you just want to touch him, to look at him, to admire him. You tell him that just watching your fingers roll down his hair, down his back and his bottom makes a gratefulness rise inside you, that it’s a rush for you just to see him like this. That seems to calm him and his hand sneaks across the sheets and rests on your bicep.  
  
But that doesn’t last long because you want to be on top of him; you want to smell his hair; you want to feel the warmth behind his ear, kiss the curve of his neck and the rise of his shoulder blades. Now and again, he moans a little and sometimes even begs in a whisper for you to kiss him, but your face is too far away and settling into the dip in his lower back. You keep going, your lips skimming over his ass and down the back of his legs, and though the way back up goes much quicker, it’s just as beautiful, and Justin is in your arms even quicker, kissing you almost rabidly. “Settle down,” you chide him, “There’s no rush.”  
  
His voice his breathy, “What do you want? I’ll do anything.”  
  
You smile, “I don’t need you to do anything—except maybe relax.”  
  
“I can’t,” he pants, “I can’t relax.” His hands start wandering down your chest, and you have to pull them back up. “Brian, please,” he protests, “Let me touch you.” He sounds so completely desperate that you want to come undone right then and there and bury yourself inside him, but you settle for something less, allowing his hand to move. You get a ticklish rush when he cups your balls and pushes the back of his hand against your cock. “ _Oh, god, you’re so hard,_ ” he breathes.  
  
“For you.”  
  
“I’ll suck you. Please. I can almost taste you,” he pleads.  
  
“How am I going to kiss you if you’re sucking my cock?” you ask him letting your index finger play on the edge of his lips. You take his hand from your cock and pin it behind his back, “Talk to me. Tell me what’s making you so breathless.”  
  
He slides his leg over your legs and ruts against you, his face buried in your neck, “Everything is making me crazy. What we did today makes me crazy. You paddled me for humiliating you; you _punished_ me. That drives me absolutely nuts.”  
  
A less-than-innocent smile spreads over your face, “You liked that, huh?”  
  
“I loved it. I want to be punished…like that…for something real.”  
  
You praise him, stroke his hair, hold his face in your hand. “I’m proud of you tonight…very proud…so I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to last as long as I want you to; I want to feel how tight your bottom is; I want to feel how sore you are; I want you to resist me.”  
  
Justin holds onto you, rolling on his back; the only willful act you’ve allowed. “I’ll do anything for you,” he promises, “Anything.”  
  
You spread his legs, urge them up and let him feel your cock hard between them. “Fight me,” you tell him. “Fight me like you do when I paddle you.” His knees squeeze your waist and his arms stiffen. Getting inside him is delicious and difficult, and the look on his face when you go deep is one of simultaneous relief and frustration, and you can feel him trying not to orgasm, see the conflict spread throughout his whole body. You can feel it in his hands that are wrapped around your upper arms. “I want you to forget about what you need, forget about your orgasm and just concentrate on pleasing me, Justin. You can do that. I know you can. You can come when I’m done with you.”  
  
“ _Brian._ ”  
  
“You owe me this after what you did to me today. Take me,” you order him, breaking through the cage his arms have tried to make and looping yours beneath his arm pits giving your hips the leverage you need. You have age and sexual exhaustion on your side tonight; he has nothing—except his feet pushing down on your ass, trying to force you into a more shallow position. You pull his hair, scold him, and fuck the shit out of him.

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 39** **

****JUSTIN’S POV  
  
**** You spend most of Monday in bed on your stomach watching documentaries on Netflix. Brian was right about the pain; every inch of you ached. You avoid the painkillers he left you because you know they’ll make you sleep all day, and you want to be awake for what you’re experiencing. Brian texts you off and on, bemoaning the crazy day he’s having and telling you not to fix dinner for him because he’s having lunch at three with a client, and yet he’s home earlier than usual, pulling into the garage at five seventeen. He’s never home at five seventeen. You’re standing in the kitchen by the time he walks in the door and for reasons that aren’t exactly clear to you at that moment, you’re wearing your dungeon uniform complete with your new collar. Brian smiles when he sees you and sits a weird looking brown paper bag on the counter.  
  
“You’re kind of early,” you say.  
  
“How do you feel?”  
  
“Pretty sore. You were right. I laid in bed and watched movies all day.”  
  
“Anything good?” he asks as he walks into the foyer to hang up his coat.  
  
“A documentary on happiness. It was kind of interesting.”  
  
“Did you have dinner?” Brian asks.  
  
“Uh, yes. I ate early like I’m supposed to.”  
  
He steps toward you and extends his arm; you hold out your hand, and he takes it, using it to pull you against him. You inhale his scent as he holds you there at the bottom of the stairs. After a minute or so, he says, very quietly and as if he’s responding more to your attire than to you, “I’m not going to spank you. I haven’t changed my mind about that.”  
  
“Good because I’d abort that mission at this point.”  
  
Brian laughs, “But I’m glad you stuck to your routine because I brought you dessert. Proactive obedience is a good look for you. I think you should hone that character trait.” You smile, and it really doesn’t matter what’s in that bag anymore; it’s much more intriguing to feel his approval. “Go wait for me in your studio…with the door shut,” he instructs. “I’ll come get you in about five or ten minutes.” And then he kisses you, gently pushing you toward the stairs.  
  
~+~+~+~ ** **  
BRIAN’S POV  
  
**** Ten minutes later you come and find Justin, a blindfold in your hand. You unveil the evening’s purpose for him, telling him that tonight is all about pleasure for him, that he’s earned this little treat. “I want you to relax,” you say as you slide the blindfold on, “You don’t need to worry about pleasing me or anything. Just follow along and when the evening ends, you’ll have a brand new notch in your proverbial belt.”  
  
“I like belts,” he says, laughing a little.  
  
You take his hand and lead him down the hall to your bedroom, explaining where you are and then walking him to the edge of your side of the bed. “Lean down,” you tell him, “Put your chest on the bed.” Your request, once followed, puts him in the perfect position to begin. “Now, I want you to reach back and pull your pants down for me.” He does as requested and you kneel down on the floor to see the goose bumps up close after navigating his feet out his of pants, tossing them aside. “Spread your legs, please,” you say, and he moans just a bit when you rest your face against his inner thigh and start to press kiss after kiss into his skin. Though his bruises are still dark, his welts are fading fast and nothing detracts from the beautiful view you have on your knees. When you work your way up the other leg and then to the edge of his ass, he stops breathing. And when your thumbs slide down either side of his crack, nudging his cheeks apart, he scrapes the comforter with his fingernails. You taste him and his hand flies up and grips the foot board, and you smile as he preens up on his toes, his back arching to deliver his bottom to you. “That’s nice, Justin,” you praise, “Very nice.”  
  
“Oh god.”  
  
“We’re just pre-gaming here; relax and open up for me.”  
  
“I’m nervous because I’m blindfolded.”  
  
You stand up for a minute and lay down over him, “You don’t need to be nervous. I want you to have a pure experience, not one influenced by anticipation of what you see.” You toy with his hair, “You trust me, right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And you trust that I know how to please you?”  
  
“God, yes.”  
  
“Then, take a deep breath and let yourself go. I’ve got you. The next hour or so is going to blow your mind. Don’t let anything take away from that pleasure.”  
  
He reaches up and touches your shoulder, “I’m not as hedonistic as you are. We’re different….”  
  
“Yes, we are, and tonight is about _you_. I won’t let you distract me from my mission.” And then you add because you realize what he’s trying to tell you, “And that’s an order.”  
  
“ _Yes, sir,_ ” he whispers and you’re back on track.  
  
~+~+~+~  
It’s time to move this little party of two along, so you let him know that a plug is coming next, a new one. You coat it with warm lube—a contrast with the cold aluminum that it’s made out of. And then you tell him that it’s time to move, and guide him, lining him up with the edge of your side of the bed with his ass facing out. “I need you to pull this knee up to your chest,” you tell him, giving him a little push.  
  
“There’s something behind me,” he says feeling the bunker of towels you’d laid out.  
  
“Yep. And this plug is different; it’s hollow. It’s a conduit—“  
  
“This is an enema,” he says, sounding almost alarmed.  
  
“Yep, but it’s not like anything you’ve had before.” The enema kit is new, bought that day, as is the solution about to make its way inside him.  
  
“You’re letting me do this in our bed?” he asks tensing up.  
  
“You’ll see why in a few minutes.”  
  
“Where are you going?” he asks when he heard your footsteps walking away.  
  
“I’m getting undressed to join you on the bed.” You shed your pants last and leave your clothes in a heap in a chair to lie down beside him. Slowly, you take his blindfold off, and he presses his face against your chest because of the light. You stroke his hair; he puts his arm around your torso.  
  
“Brian, what is this?” he asks, “I feel…good.”  
  
“It’s a white wine enema, prepared just for you by the guys at Release. They say ‘hi,’ by the way.”  
  
“I thought you had a crazy day.”  
  
“I did.” You pause because Justin’s facial expression’s changing; he looks woozy. “You okay?”  
  
“This is…so…I mean…this feeling, it’s enveloping me.”  
  
“It’s a buzz. Enjoy it. Anyway, I know about Release because they’re a client. Well, the leather store above them is a client and a few months ago, they called me and said they wanted to monetize the dungeon, so my late lunch was with them today.”  
  
“I stripped down and got hung from a ceiling in front of a _client_?” he asks. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”  
  
“Nope, no joke, and believe me, they expect complete confidentiality, so you’re fine. And they think that despite your recalcitrance, you’re rather adorable.”  
  
He smiles and sort of laughs, snuggling up to you, “That is _so_ ridiculous, and I’m _really_ tipsy.”  
  
“Well, then you’ve got about five more minutes. They mixed this using your height and weight and everything. They gave me explicit instructions about—“ and that’s when Justin realizes something and interrupts you, “I have to expel this. I don’t want to. This feels unbelievable—like my body is trying to hug me from the inside out.”  
  
“I’ll help you when it’s time. Just relax and enjoy it for now.”  
  
…..  
  
“I feel like the stairway to heaven goes right through my _ass_ ,” he says.  
  
“Oh, trust me. It always has.”  
  
~+~+~+~  
The next fifteen minutes or so are spent just being close to him, feeling his skin get warm as the intoxication takes over and being the benefactor of his affections. When it’s time to dispense with the solution, you detach the tube from the plug and carry him into the bathroom. You run a lukewarm shower and wait for him to finish his expulsion—an event accompanied by copious laughter and comments like, “This isn’t ‘Chardonay;’ it’s ‘Chardon _ass_.”  
  
“That was funny,” you remark.  
  
You have to almost hold him up once you get him in the shower and as a result, wash him as quickly as you can to get him back to bed. Once you have him back there, you ask, “You okay? You still feel like you’re in heaven?”  
  
“Oh my god, I’ve found a whole new religion.”

**~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 40  
** **

****BRIAN’S POV  
****  
Next, you make a point of just enjoying him. You scoot up and away from him and invite him to sit with you—well—on you--straddling you with his head on your shoulder. “ _You’re so hard,_ ” he whispers into the hollow of your shoulder blade, “ _You want me._ ”  
  
What he says is true but you’re having the a difficult time deciding how; your mind flashes on taking him fast and hard and then on making love to him until he just falls asleep underneath you, his head still shuffling to and fro on the pillow with every thrust. Somehow Justin being drunk makes you feel safer, too—safer to say things you want to tell him but often don’t—and safer somehow just to listen to what he’s really saying because wine makes him a little more honest, a lot more talkative, and more prone to change the subject….  
  
“Tell me,” he says, again with his head still buried against you, “What those guys said about me.”  
  
“What guys?”  
  
“At Release,” and then he kisses your neck, “You said they like me.”  
  
You find this intriguing, “They do. They don’t get many slaves like you, I suppose.”  
  
He laughs against you, “I’m special.”  
  
“You’re a ‘pill.’ I think that was the word they used.”  
  
“Yeah, a ‘pill’ that they want to swallow.”  
  
Now it’s your turn to laugh a little, “Well…now that you mention it…I don’t think they’ll be doing the swallowing if we decide to go back.”  
  
He sits up and looks at you, his arms resting on your shoulders, “What?”  
  
“Well…,” you roll your tongue around inside your mouth while you try to decide the best way to tell him this news, “Here’s the thing: if we go back…and we’re certainly under no obligation to do so…but if we do, I agreed to a couple different…punishments…for you…for that stunt you pulled last time.”  
  
He pulls back a little, “Excuse me?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
“What sort of punishments?”  
  
“Can’t tell you that.” You watch him very closely, intrigued by the battle going on inside him; he’s trying to look offended…but…he’s sort of…blushing.  
  
“You don’t have the right to do that,” he tries.  
  
“Oh, I most certainly do.”  
  
He starts looking down at his lap, so your eyes follow his, only to find his cock straining to get your attention. When he looks back up at you, his pupils are very dilated. You don’t expect his next move--to lean forward and lie against you again. You fasten your hands around his back and just breathe with him…in…and out…in…and out, letting him digest this information at his own pace.  
  
……  
  
“ _But I’m a good boy,_ ” he finally whispers out of some erotic desperation.  
  
“You are…most of the time…that afternoon just wasn’t your finest hour.”  
  
His voice is a slippery almost-whine, “You agree that I should be punished when you already punished me?”  
  
“Their dungeon; their rules. What you and I do has no bearing on that. We signed a social contract that day; we have to fulfill it if we want to participate.”  
  
Your bedroom becomes very quiet save the heat breathing warmth into the room; Justin becomes quiet as well, but not still. He kisses your neck, your jaw line and then lingers around your lips, his hips grinding softly against you. You decide to play with this a little, to wait for him to really make a move, to enjoy the tentative nature of his affection.  
  
He kisses you..finally…but it’s sweet and kind of dry and perfunctory, the kind of kiss that’s usually reserved for moments when you part company. And then it happens again—soft, sweet and dry—only you detect the faintest moan leaking out from somewhere inside him.  
  
He touches your chest like he’s reading Braille, his fingers circling and rising and falling, and when it starts to tickle, you gently stop his hand and just hold it still against your heart. His hips continue to rock. “Tell me what you need,” you say quietly, almost under your breath, “Just tell me.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“I need to make you happy,” he says.  
  
“You do.”  
  
“I mean, like right now. I need to make you happy with me.”  
  
You pause before responding, “Well, this thing you’re doing with your hips; I like it. I was thinking maybe you do it but with me inside you…and with you…facing the other way.”  
  
“You don’t want to look at my face?” he pouts.  
  
“Oh, I do, and I plan to. I’d just kind of like to watch your ass work for a few minutes.”  
  
He leans in and kisses you before deftly turning around on his knees. “This is for you,” he says over his shoulder, so you smile and reach for the last of the lube in the warmer; you stroke yourself with one hand and grasp his hip with the other. You like to feel his fingers splay out on your legs as you slide into him, feel his grip tighten the deeper you go. “I’m in no pain,” he offers as if indicating that it’s okay for you to pick up the pace a little. You watch your hand run up his back and into his hair, your fingers winding into the soft blond strands. Slowly, his hips begin to move; your body crashes back into the pillows as you watch yourself appear and disappear into his bottom, over and over again.  
  
“Happy?” he asks on a down thrust.  
  
“This makes me want to spank you,” you admit.  
  
“I won’t stop you. My ass is completely drunk. It won’t remember anything tomorrow.”  
  
“C’mere,” you say, “Turn around and come here.”  
  
He dismounts and with a few deft moves, you’re on top of him, and he’s smiling as you twirl his hair in your fingers. “What?” he asks. “What’s that look on your face mean?”  
  
“This is supposed to be a night of pleasure for you. I shouldn’t be making you work,” you admit.  
  
“I didn’t mind at all…but if you want to make mad passionate love to me while I just lay here…I’m not going to stop you.”  
  
“Maybe I want you to.”  
  
“Like last night?”  
  
“Yeah,” you concede with an oddly hopeful feeling inside you.  
  
Justin kisses you and then gives you a dose of hard truth, “I have no problem with that except that I’m really drunk right now. I don’t think I can put up much of a fight.”  
  
You smile, “True…and tonight’s your night to relax. Forget I said anything.”  
  
“Again, I’m drunk, so that’s no problem.” And then he takes your hand out of his hair and directs it down to his collar. “ _Take me,_ he whispers.  
  
So you do.


	7. Maintenance 41-49

**~♥~MAINTENANCE 41-49~♥~**

****MAINTENANCE 41  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
**  
 _9:47_ a.m.  
  
It’s Tuesday morning when you awake all alone. Naked. Without him. The sunbeams from your bedroom window nudge you toward alter-ness and illuminate a note laying on Brian’s pillow… _I let you sleep._ It’s not until you’re being pelted with warmth in the shower that you sort of remember the night before. You lean against the tile and try to make the images resurface, but all you can conjure up is the feeling that you’d been cut wide open and bled euphoria everywhere.  
  
Blue jeans slip on easily; you forget to be hindered from the painful bruising. It too is fading away. There are hours spent in your studio actually working, actually producing; ideas slip-sliding out of your mind and right onto the canvas almost slick-like; never a moment with too little paint on a brush. Being on the cusp of _what comes next?_ doesn’t hurt or make you anxious.  
  
He’s home.  
  
 _5:33_.  
  
He can fill a doorway just right; his body snaps snug inside a door frame like a puzzle piece, and then snaps right back out and comes toward you. Hesitation employed by each of you just to rent this moment a little bit longer.  
  
Breathes you in like he owns you.  
  
Draws you up on your toes.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
Watch him undress from the comfort of your bed; your clothes left scattered in the hallway, all his doing. His necktie falls like a sigh on the edge of the mattress before slinking to the floor.  
  
……  
  
Lungs abdicate responsibility and let your skin do all the breathing; let it gasp and whine and beg to be touched. A chill spikes beneath it when expectations surface; an intimate, invading thrust seals your connection though his mouth hovers right above yours – out of reach.  
  
The headboard working itself loose again. Sheets tangled. Blankets kicked down and out of the way. You lick the sweat on his neck, tongue his earlobe, wrap yourself tightly around him, plead with his hands anytime they slip off your ass.  
  
“ _This what you want?_ ” His voice a whisper laden with gravel. “ _Fuck you within an inch of your life and then drag you back kicking and screaming?_ ” You start to shake, involuntarily, trembling as the truth is pounded into you. “You’re gonna come; I can feel it,” he warns you, “You get so fucking _tight._ ” He says that last word right into your mouth, pulling you into a kiss that feels like a black hole of desire. You see-saw on the tip of release and when it finally runs you down, he sucks the moaning right out of you.  
  
The shaking gets worse; he clamps himself on top of you trying to hold you still, both hands squeezing your bottom hard as he fucks you. “ _It’s okay; it's okay,_ ” he steams into your ear.  
  
“I can’t stop,” you admit to him.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
He thinks you mean the twitching. Only the twitching.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
Until you come again.  
  
…….  
  
“Christ, Justin… _fuck_ ,” he pants, “Wait for me next time.”  
  
……  
  
The fuck continues; the oversensitivity borders on excruciating; you feel your eyes roll back in your head.  
  
……  
  
Brian sounds like he’s praying into your shoulder blade, mostly things you can’t understand, except when you hear your name and feel his body steel itself against his end game--finally. He’s out of breath afterwards, a sheen of sweat all over him when he collapses on top of you like a pile of lead bricks.  
  
……  
  
The trembling starts to subside when your bodies are officially disconnected. “Okay, that was kind of weird,” Brian says, “I felt like I plugged my dick into an electric current or something.”  
  
“Sorry,” you offer, and he laughs and kisses the top of your head. You tighten your grip around his torso; lying on his chest always feels like the safest place in the world.  
  
“You don’t need to be sorry…at all.” He sighs and continues, “So if I decide to let you sleep tomorrow morning, this is what I’m coming home to tomorrow night?”  
  
“I guess so. Maybe I’m like a little kid when you break their routine.”  
  
“Maybe. I’ll take that under advisement.”  
  
……  
  
You feel Brian start to fall asleep beneath you, and you don’t stop it from happening. When he starts to snore, you scoot to the edge of the bed, reach down and slide open his nightstand drawer, running your fingers over the wood grain in one of your many paddles.  
  
Thursday is too far away.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 42**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** It's late Wednesday night around nine p.m. when you finally leave work. You're not happy about it, but you had two presentations happening today and still have another large one tomorrow. Justin is understanding about it, seems to appreciate all the attention you've paid to him lately--except for this morning, when you didn't fuck him--again. You have your reasons, and then one got added to it; turns out the bed really was coming apart (again) last night. When you kissed Justin goodbye that morning, you could tell that the mattress was leaning to one side. You'd warned Justin about buying a bed at Ikea, but he wouldn't listen to you. He thought he was getting a good deal; you, on the other hand, don't believe in any bed that can be assembled with chewed gum and an allen wrench. Besides, you'd much rather spend ten grand on a bed that never comes apart mid-fuck.  
  
So, when you walk in the house, you're not completely surprised to find him zonked out downstairs in your home theater. A movie is playing; the remote is sticking halfway out of his hand. You lean down and scoop him up, moving him to another sofa. He wakes up confused; his hair spiking everywhere. "I didn't hear you come in," he says, rubbing his face.  
  
"Good movie, huh?" you kid.  
  
"Oh my god, I went through like four before I settled on this one and then I fell asleep. How were your presentations?"  
  
"Over," you say with a satisfied sigh as you toss the cushions off the sofa and extend the sleeper mattress. You keep clean sheets on it for emergencies or the rare exile over heated argument. You walk to the closet and grab some pillows. You hurl them over your shoulder and Justin catches them, arranging everything the way the two of you like it. "But I have another big one tomorrow. That's what I was doing tonight. Prepping."  
  
"Our bed is coming apart again. Is that why you didn't fuck me this morning?" (Justin can change a subject quicker than his mind.)  
  
"Well, yeah. You were sound asleep and tilted toward the east. I'll fix it tomorrow night. I'm exhausted."  
  
He thinks he's a human compass, this partner of yours who has probably spent a total of one hour in the woods his entire life,"That is not the east, Brian!"  
  
"Okay, fine. You were tilted north northeast. Is that better?"  
  
He sits like a pretzel on the bed, "It's my fault. It's a piece of shit bed."  
  
"That's a true statement, Sunshine, but I warned you about buying a bed in any store that also houses a cafeteria."  
  
"Yes, you did. And one that serves horse meatballs, no less. I'll go get our toothbrushes and stuff for tonight."  
  
When he's halfway up the staircase, you call to him, "Justin?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're a good wife."  
  
He laughs, "I know."  
  
***************** **  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** When you come back downstairs, the television is off, the lights in the theater are as dim as they'll go, and Brian is standing by the other sofa getting undressed. You smile at him and head for the bathroom. You lay everything out for him and when he darkens the doorway, you expect him to come in and start washing his face, but he doesn't; he just tugs on your shirt and pulls you out of the tiny room. He spins you around and gives you a long, lasting look before he kisses you, but you interrupt it unintentionally, "Did you have dinner?"  
  
"I had peanut butter crackers and Jim Beam, and if you'd shut up and kiss me, you'd already know that."  
  
"You're in a mood tonight."  
  
"I'm tired and I want you. Okay?"  
  
"Yeah...okay."  
  
Brian doesn't want any frivolity tonight. He just wants your clothes _off_ , and you lying face down on the sofa bed, spread eagle. You grab the edge of the mattress and the foam rubber curls right up. You prepare yourself for a quick, hard fuck.  
  
But that's not what you get.  
  
***************** **  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
**  
Justin probably thinks that you aren't thinking that tomorrow is Thursday, the day you resume his spanking regimen. He probably thinks you're too busy with more important things.  
  
He's wrong.  
  
You start at his ankle and run your lips up the inside of his leg. You lick the crease where his bottom starts, let your tongue trail from one side to the other, use the weight of your body to hold him down. And then you flatten your tongue and lick him from the base of his ass all the way to the top of his crack, through the valley of his lower back, over his shoulders, stopping right behind his ear. He's panting. Hard. You let your leg press between his to keep him spread the way he is and kiss the back of his neck.  
  
"I thought you were tired," he says.  
  
"I am."  
  
"This isn't you being tired; trust me."  
  
"Did you masturbate today?" you ask.  
  
"Twice."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Well, not in our bed, obviously. In the studio...and your office," he explains.  
  
"My _office_?"  
  
"Well, the end of the sofa by your desk...it smells like you."  
  
You want to tease him about it, but there's something so sweet about the way he says it, that you can't. All you can do is go back to kissing him behind his ear and make love to him for over an hour. You hate sleeping on that sofa bed, but he's with you that night, so it's not so bad. When you wake up the next morning at six twenty-five a.m., he's standing there wearing only your dress shirt and holding a plate. "Here," he says. I made you breakfast. Scrambled egg whites, fruit, and turkey sausage. You need to eat before this presentation." You sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes, "Thanks."  
  
"I'll go get your coffee. Be right back."  
  
You turn on your wide screen to watch the morning financial reports and smile. It's definitely Thursday.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 43**

**B **RIAN’S POV**  
**  
On Thursday at a little before three p.m., you leave work confident that your presentation has gone well. Justin is surprised to hear you coming up the stairs and has a paintbrush in his hand and a quizzical look on his face, “What are you doing home? Everything go okay?”  
  
“Went great.”  
  
“Yay! I’d hug you, but I’m kind of grimey.”  
  
“Get changed. We have plans.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
You walk into your bedroom, shedding your tie in the process, “We’re going shopping. Change your shirt.”  
  
*********  
The high end furniture store you take Justin is located in an unremarkable store front in Morgantown, WV, and the brass bell on the glass door clangs loudly when you enter. An older man approaches you with a younger one right behind him who steps in front for the introductions, “Dad, this is Mr. Kinney. He owns several businesses in Pittsburgh.” The older man shakes your hand, “My son says you’re looking for a new bedroom set.”  
  
“We are,” you say with a smile. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about your furniture.”  
  
“Why, thank you. My son, Rick, says he knows you, so I’ll just leave you in his capable hands.”  
  
“Thank you,” you say, “Rick, show us what you’ve got.”  
  
“Well, everything in the quality and price range you mentioned on the phone is up on the second floor. The stairs are this way.”  
  
*********  
You hold Justin’s hand as you walk up the stairs, and he asks, “How do you two know each other?”  
  
Rick winks, “We need to get out of earshot first.” Once the three of you are officially in the showroom, Rick turns to Justin, “Brian helped me out one night Babylon about a year ago.”  
  
“Is that a euphemism?” Justin asks.  
  
“No,” you assure him, “I was working there one night in my office and I saw Rick on our security cameras looking very out of place and terrified on the dance floor.”  
  
“ _I’m not ‘out,’_ ” Rick whispers.  
  
You continued, “I thought it was a pop health inspection or something because of how he was dressed, so I ran down the stairs and introduced myself.”  
  
Rick laughs, “It’s funny now, but it was my first time in a gay club, and I was mortified. I didn’t fit in _at all_. Brian rescued me. Once he realized I wasn’t an inspector, he took me up to his office and gave me the names of some other places to go that would be more my speed.”  
  
“That was nice of you, Brian,” Justin says, hanging on your arm. “He sort of rescued me too many years ago, but it didn’t go quite like that.”  
  
“Yes, that’s true. I attempted to enroll Justin in my ‘catch-and-release’ program, but the ‘releasing’ part never quite took.”  
  
“Which subsequently led to the termination of that program,” Justin says with prideful smile. You roll your eyes.  
  
Rick clapped his hands together, “Well, all of the bedroom sets in your requested price range are up here. We are a third generation family business and our furniture is one hundred percent handmade by about fifteen carpenters, most of whom have been with us for ten years or more. Almost any design you see can be made in the wood and finish of your choice, so, please, take your time, look around, and just ring this bell when you’re ready or if you have questions.” He points to a doorbell button on the wall. “It rings downstairs in the office. I’ll come right up. I need to help my father with some paperwork. He’s getting a little too old to handle the books by himself.”  
  
“We’ll be fine,” you say. “We have a lot of decisions to make.”  
  
Rick smiles and leaves the two of you to shop.  
  
“Was that story really true?” Justin asks after Rick is gone.  
  
You nod, “The last thing you ever want at a nightclub is a health inspection when the backroom is packed. I tore down those stairs that night. Guys like him don’t typically just wander into Babylon. But enough about that, let’s pick out furniture.”  
  
*********  
The showroom is massive, and there’s at least a dozen different styles to choose from, and Justin stops at the second one and points out, “Okay, this one is cool. It has drawers under the bed like we used to have at the loft. And I like a darker finish like a walnut or even ebony.”  
  
“I agree. But I want a high bed. I’m not buying any more beds that are low to ground. I’m too old for that shit.”  
  
The two of you continue to wander and eventually split up; Justin browses faster than you do. You find a set toward the back of the showroom that you really like. The bed is a nice height, there’s storage underneath and sturdy bed posts. You call Justin over; his hands are full of tear sheets. “I grabbed one of these for all the ones I like,” he shows you, laying them out on the mattress. You push them aside back into a pile as you sit down on the bed. “Come here,” you say patting the mattress, “I want you to pull your jeans down and bend over.”  
  
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.”  
  
“I’m serious. And that’s one.”  
  
“One what?” he asks, his eye narrowing.  
  
“Jeans down, bend over, please. That’s two.” You reach into your leather jacket and remove his diamond collar, dangling it in front of his face. “Do you need this?”  
  
His demeanor changes, his eyes scan the showroom at least twice before responding, “No, I don’t need that.”  
  
“Seems like you do. Do I need to ask you again? And that’s three.”  
  
Again, his eyes scan the showroom and then come back to your face where your blank expression hasn’t changed. He starts to fiddle with the button on his jeans. “Are you really serious?” he asks.  
  
“Yes, and that’s four.”  
  
“ _Brian._ ”  
  
“Five.”  
  
“Is this because I made that joke about your ‘catch-and-release’ thing? I was kidding.”  
  
“No. Six.” He’s close enough to you now that you can easily snap his collar around his neck without even getting off the bed.  
  
“Someone could hear us.”  
  
“Seven.”  
  
Justin’s visibly stressed when he finally unzips his jeans and bends over the bed right beside where you’re sitting. He pushes the denim right below his ass.  
  
“Seven is way too many,” you tell him. “Way too many.”  
  
He speaks softly, “Are we actually here to buy furniture?”  
  
“Absolutely. We’re buying this set after we give it a test run.” You scoot closer to him and run your hand over his ass, letting your fingers slip inside the elastic of his underwear. You watch his face closely when your fingertip is stroking his perineum; he wants to break eye contact with you, but he doesn’t. “Pull your underwear down for me,” you tell him, and he obeys, quickly tucking the tail of his shirt between the mattress and his cock. You can see the wet spot on his briefs. “Arch your back and present your bottom for me,” you order. He has to get up on his tiptoes due to the height of the bed.  
  
The spanking he gets is as loud and as long as one he gets at home. He can hardly hold still, and when you’re finished, his cheeks are a deep pink color. You make him stand up when it’s over, and don’t let him lean on you while you redress him, his collar staying on. You pull a tear sheet for that particular set and walk him back up to the front, your hand firm on the small of his back. You ring the bell and hear Rick coming back up the stairs.  
  
“I’d like this delivered in ebony by five p.m. tomorrow,” you tell him, “Is that possible?”  
  
“Sure. It’s in stock.”  
  
“Great. Justin will be there to accept the delivery. Here’s my Amex card.”  
  
You lead Justin down the stairs, and he just smiles uncomfortably while everything is bought and paid for. You say your goodbyes and take him back to the car.  
  
*********  
You open his car door for him and when he goes to close it, he can’t because you’re squatting right there in the way. “I want your pants down for the ride home,” you inform him. He looks away and stares out the front window like there’s a gaggle of baby geese walking by or something. “I’m serious, Justin. I want to enjoy my handiwork. Pull everything down and lay on your side. And that’s eight.”  
  
Without looking at you, he unbuttons and pulls his jeans and underwear down, and you assist him in turning in your direction because, “I can’t see your ass the other way.” You lean the seat back, buckle him in, and then ask him to, "Look at me, please."  
  
His blue eyes shift up and don't change expression when you kiss him. You note, though, that he participates, lets your tongue in his mouth. "I'm sorry I had to do that to you," you lie while playing with the hem of his shirt to get to his dick. It's almost paying more attention to you than he is. You stroke him, one hand on his cock and the other on his forehead, your thumb passing over his temple. He moans and touches your hand, squeezing it on the down stroke. " _You're so beautiful when you're not allowed to come,_ " you whisper softly.  
  
Once you’re behind the wheel, you blast the heat for him and eventually discard your leather jacket in the backseat. His bottom is still a little pink, and when you don’t need two hands on the wheel, you’re touching him, rubbing him, praising him for obeying you.  
  
“I don’t like this,” he finally says almost under his breath. “Everyone who’s beside us can see me.”  
  
“You don’t need to worry about them. You’re pleasing me. That’s all that matters.”  
  
He’s quiet and curled up the rest of the ride home and when you get off the highway and onto the back roads, you see him sneak his hand between his legs.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 44**

**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
When you get home and Brian’s precious car is safe and secure in your garage, he tells you, “Take everything off and leave it in the car.” And then he gets out of the vehicle, shuts the door and unlocks the door to the basement instead of the kitchen and disappears, leaving it halfway open; you watch him walk away toward the dungeon until you can’t see him anymore.  
  
It’s freezing inside the garage and being nude in that cold air does not appeal to you, even if it’s just for a few seconds. Leaving your clothes in the car doesn’t appeal to you either, but you’re, quite simply, not inclined to disobey him. So, you do it. You kick off your shoes and socks and stuff your jeans and underwear all the way down to your ankles and then onto the floor. You pull off your shirts and throw them down there, too. You leave your diamond-studded collar on. You’re going to do this fast, this rush to the dungeon through the freezing cold basement.  
  
When you get to the dungeon door, it too is halfway open, so you walk in and see Brian sitting there in a wing backed chair, smoking with his legs crossed. There’s something about Brian looking particularly gay that always turns you on. “What’s that in your hand?” he asks.  
  
You look down like you don’t even know yourself, “Oh, it’s my phone.”  
  
“I told you to leave everything in the car.”  
  
“But it’s my phone. I wasn’t wearing it.”  
  
“So you’re interested in splitting hairs this afternoon?” he asks.  
  
“No. No, I’m not. I guess I made a mistake.”  
  
“Give it to me. And that’s nine,” Brian says, so you take a couple steps forward and hand it to him and then step back like the chair is on fire or something. He turns it sideways and clicks the ringer off and then sets it down on the table next to him. When his glance gets back to you, he just stares at you, his head moving up from your feet to your face and back down again. After about three rounds of this, you feel your knees bending all by themselves as they settle on the cold concrete floor. “Open your knees,” he says so you do, and your hard cock bounces right out like it’s on exhibit or something. You stare at it and then the floor, thinking that maybe if you stop giving it so much of your attention, it will realize that this is no time for a parade.  
  
It doesn’t.  
  
Brian uncrosses and re-crosses his legs in the other direction before asking, “So, how does it feel to walk naked through our basement?”  
  
“Cold and unsettling,” you reply.  
  
He laughs a little, “’Unsettling.’ That’s an excellent description. Thank you.”  
  
You feel like an idiot, albeit a polite one, “You’re welcome.”  
  
He leans forward and touches the top of your head, strokes your hair, his fingers feel like a whisper behind your ear. You want to reach up and grab him and yank him down on the floor with you and discuss _his_ clothing options, but you don’t dare move. You see your cock beading just because he barely touched you, and it makes you really mad.  
  
Brian misses nothing, “You’re dripping.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Do you think that’s appropriate?”  
  
“No…sir.”  
  
He leans back in his comfortable chair, “Lick it off the floor, please.” You lean down and scoot back a little so you can clean it up with your tongue. The floor is spotless except for your pathetic offering. You realize then that he's having the maids clean down here every week. You try to ignore them when they come; they suck every ounce of inspiration out of you with all that scrubbing and dusting and ‘Mr. Kinney likes it this way’ crap they’re always talking to each other about. You allow them to mop your studio but they are not allowed to touch anything else in your workspace. You usually stand on your front steps and smoke while they do it so you don’t lose your vibe.  
  
“I’m starting to get concerned about you,” Brian says, pulling you out of your thoughts.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You have zero self control.”  
  
“I guess I need some guidance in that area,” you concede, “How much am I supposed to have?”  
  
Brian finds this particularly amusing apparently; he chokes on his cigarette smoke and you have to tighten everything not to laugh with him. He gets up and gets a bottle of water out of the fridge, drinks half of it, finally stops coughing and then offers you the rest. You take it and guzzle it, not even realizing how dry your mouth was.  
  
“I don’t even know how to answer that question,” he says, a little laughter still there, “But I’m going to give it some thought.”  
  
“Thank you,” you say, feeling like a total dork.  
  
“Come over here,” he says so you scoot closer to him on your knees, still looking at the floor, listening as he’s clearly undoing his pants. He pulls his cock out and lifts your chin, “Suck on this while I ponder the subject.” You taste him, and he’s a little wet, too, and that makes you smile as you plant tiny kisses down his dick and then up again. He’s moaning softly when he starts to guide your face, his thumb opening your mouth so he can fuck it. Though you desperately want to touch him, you keep your hands planted on your thighs. He works your face slowly, gliding in and out over your tongue, his hands wound in your hair. The pleasure he's emitting starts to infect you, makes you want to give him more, to suck a little bit harder—  
  
“Easy,” he warns you.  
  
Finally, after a couple of minutes, he pushes his cock deep in your throat and starts to bounce your head, and when he comes, he groans, leans forward, and slides a hand all the way down your back to the top of your ass and just squeezes. His touch, his attention feels amazing. Brian sits back up, refastens his pants, and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers intertwined as he looks at you, “I’m really not even sure where to start with you, Justin.” There’s something about him saying your name that feels unbearably intense.  
  
You talk to his knees, “Are you asking for suggestions?”  
  
He laughs, “Not from you, no.”  
  
You stare back at the floor, “Okay.”  
  
“All I know is that you are in a perpetual state of arousal and have been for weeks now.”  
  
“Okay, but you were in one for years, and you turned out okay,” you try.  
  
“Very funny.”  
  
You weren’t trying to make a joke, but you let it pass and try something else, “Isn’t it a compliment that I’m like this? I mean, it’s because of you. It’s not like I’m addicted to heroin or something.”  
  
“I’m not going to let you stay like this. We’re going to start having one week on and two weeks off in between.”  
  
“Brian, no.” Now you’re agitated, “Don’t take this away from me.”  
  
“Listen to me—"  
  
“Please…please don’t.”

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 45**

**BRIAN’S POV  
  
** This is why you had to come down his throat before having this conversation…because you knew he’d start begging, and you’d come in your pants if you hadn’t gotten some release immediately prior.  
  
“Brian, I swear; I’ll do anything you want, wherever you want,” he continues.  
  
“Stop it. Stop begging. You don’t even know what you’re begging for.”  
  
“Yes, I do,” he says, like he means it.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“No, you don’t. Get up.” You stand, reach down, and grab him by the upper arm, helping Justin to his feet. You guide him over to the bedside and make him stand there while you attach leather cuffs to his wrists and ankles and then tie a blindfold around his eyes, and then you turn him around and tell him, “All fours, please. Your face in the sheets.”  
  
He complies--though his breathing gets heavy--as you link each wrist to each ankle so his hands are essentially buckled right by his feet. You step back and light a wide red candle on the nightstand and kill the rest of the lights in the room. You walk to the other side of the bed and start pulling various implements off the wall, tossing them on the mattress as you sit down beside his head. You touch his hair, run your fingers through it, ask him, “Is your collar too tight in this position?”  
  
“Kind of,” he says quietly.  
  
“I’ll fix it.” You loosen it by one snap and then run your fingers over his face, caressing his forehead, his cheekbones, his jaw line. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” you tell him, “To spending this kind of time with you.”  
  
“Me, too.”  
  
“Well, then, let’s get started.” And with that, you get up and walk back around to the other side of the bed where his ass is waiting for you. You touch him, your fingers spread wide on his bottom, rubbing his cheeks, his back, and eventually, the back of his legs until without being asked, he moans and spreads them for you—basically the only move he can make in the position he’s in. You pull a very small black rubber cock ring from your pocket and stroke his balls, his cock, and his stomach before introducing it. It’s headed for his cock and his balls, a degree of constriction he’s not used to and probably isn’t ready for.  
  
“Brian…what?” he asks when he realizes what’s happening.  
  
“You’re going to learn some self-control. If you can’t control your erection, then I’ll control when you come.”  
  
There’s a frustration in his voice, “It’s too tight; it’s uncomfortable.”  
  
“I know. You’ll be able to focus on other sensations very soon.”  
  
You step back a few steps and use your left hand to steady him while your right begins to twirl a black leather flogger clockwise. **  
  
JUSTIN’S POV  
  
** Your dick feels like it’s being strangled and then the rain starts. Slowly, you feel cool strips of leather cascading down your back, across your ass, over the back of your legs and feet. It’s rhythmic and the only noise you hear except for Brian’s boots anytime he takes a step. Sometimes he compliments you for staying still…”Good, Justin,” but mostly it’s just raining all over you. _Whoosh.  
  
Whoosh.  
  
Whoosh._  
  
You think about your cock and your balls pinched in this thing, what it must look like, but then the rain gets harder—same pattern, more intensity.  
  
He has a plan.  
  
Several minutes pass, and there’s another break in the precipitation, and Brian’s touching you with both hands, smoothing them all over, sometimes you can feel the denim of his jeans against you. “How’s your neck?” he asks in a low voice.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
The rain starts again, harder still, the intervals between drops getting shorter and shorter. You start to imagine your body on these black sheets in this black room and sometimes you feel yourself start to sink into somewhere else. But then there’s thunder.  
  
Slaps with his hand which hurt more and less at the same time. There’s a focus on your ass and then he’s rubbing the inside of your thigh, up and down, up and down, priming you for the pain that’s to come. It almost tilts you off balance, but he catches you after delivering sting after sting.  
  
He flogs you again like he’s cleansing your pain palette, making you a blank slate of stimulation for the next change in the weather.  
  
Hail.  
  
This flogger is different, it soothes and then stings over and over; you find yourself flinching and holding your breath, never knowing where the barbs are going to fall. The hole you feel yourself in gets deeper.  
  
And just when you think you’ve sort of adjusted to this weird sensation, he’s talking to you while you navigate it, “I have good reasons for wanting to change the schedule, Justin. You’re going to burn up every endorphin, every ounce of adrenaline and every spec of dopamine in your system if we don’t get you regulated. I thought I’d just talk to you about it, but clearly that doesn’t work, so I’ll find another way.” Tiny stings cover your back, your ass, and even your hands where they’re cuffed to your ankles.  
  
When the stinging stops, Brian is moving you, flipping you onto your back. The flogging, the gentle rain, begins again, on your face, your chest, your legs which he’s pushed apart, and then a soaking on your cock. _This is why he blindfolded me._ you think, _So I can’t see his face, can’t tell what he’s feeling or what’s coming._ You feel like you’re still hard, but maybe you’re not, maybe you’re just stuck like this because of this ring.  
  
When the stinging moves down your stomach, you make the mistake of closing your knees to stop the flogger from hitting your balls. It’s just instinct, but Brian isn’t amused, “Don’t you dare close your legs. I’ll pry them open if I have to.” You open them again, steeled against the punishment that’s sure to come, but then you’re confused because you don’t feel the flogger, you feel cold wet between your legs and then Brian on top of you, his hands brushing your thighs as he shoves his jeans down.  
  
He's fucking you.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 46**

**JUSTIN’S POV  
**  
There’s a weird kind of peace in being used like this…and by him. Something inside you begins to unravel when you can barely move, when you can’t see, when you know he’s just fucking you for his own pleasure. Brian’s not even completely undressed; you can feel his clothes brushing your skin as he struggles to get them off. You squeeze his hips with your legs; it’s the only thing you can do bound like you are. If you stretch your fingers, you can almost reach his ass on every thrust. It’s more fun to concentrate on that game than on how close you’re getting to orgasm only to feel it slide away every time. But you’re not the only one who feels it, so can he. It's fueling this fuck as are the words he’s imparting beside your ear, “You were made to be fucked like this, to lie here all bound and helpless; you were born to be a piece of ass. _My_ piece of ass.”  
  
You feel yourself shiver and then flush, feel a warm pleasure bullet running like mad beneath your skin, caught in a maze and trying to find an outlet. The only opening it can find is your mouth, and it groans out of you when it gets there, an intense release of sound.  
  
“Getting a little frustrated?” Brian asks you, his mouth skimming your shoulder.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Get used to it. Play with it,” he encourages you.  
  
“I want to kill it,” you admit.  
  
“Of course you do; you can’t tolerate anything you can’t control.”  
  
You sort of want to start arguing with him but he’s coming inside you, his now nude body collapsing on your chest, panting. But you can tell he’s not done with you. There’s no finality in his exhaustion. **  
  
BRIAN’S POV  
  
** You just came inside him, but instead of feeling like a release, it feels like the starting pistol of another leg of this race. The first lap is to un-cuff him, to encourage him to straighten his legs, to massage his hands—carefully working the right one first so he doesn’t experience spikes of pain that will push forward a memory. The friction of the fuck has shuffled his blindfold off, and he blinks at you and sort of smiles in the semi-darkness. “You okay?” you ask him.  
  
“Mmm hmm,” he answers, more blissed out than you expected at this stage, and then he adds, almost in a whisper, “ _I love you._ ”  
  
It makes you crack a smile you were hoping to hide for awhile, “Now, now; it’s way too early to be decided about that.”  
  
He pulls his hands out of your grasp and reaches upward, clasping them around your neck as he pulls you back down, “Kiss me.”  
  
You don’t particularly like it when he forces you to demonstrate how much you can’t resist him. “This is an odd moment for you to be bossy,” you warn him. You wonder if he’s forgotten the peril his cock and balls are in.  
  
“I’m not trying to be bossy; I’m trying to be affectionate,” he argues.  
  
“Sometimes I get those two confused when it comes to you,” you tease.  
  
……  
  
“Brian, you’re going to do something horrible to me; I can feel it.”  
  
Your eyebrow breaks free, “Oh yeah?”  
  
“I can read you today.”  
  
“Right, like how well you read me in the store earlier?” you remind him.  
  
“Unfair. That was a brand new book.”  
  
“Hardly.”  
  
“Whatever,” he concedes, noticeably less effervescent.  
  
“So, are you done chatting me up?” you ask.  
  
“Yes,” he says accompanied by a pout.  
  
You laugh at his rapid attitude shift and let him watch you walk over to the closet, unlock the doors and remove a tin pail. His body is propped up on his elbows when you get back to the bed. You sit down and tilt the bucket so he can see the wooden clothespins inside it. “I’d like you to count out nine of these,” you say. He clearly doesn’t like the idea, so you try a different approach, “You can count out nine of these, or I’ll count out twenty. Is that better?” He gives you a look and counts them out quietly into his hand.  
  
“Here,” he says.  
  
“Hold them for moment if you don’t mind.” You discard the pail and walk to the other side of the bed and sit down sideways by his head, “Will you get back on all fours for me please?” He lets the pins spill out of his hand as he rolls himself over. You lock his wrist cuffs together with a D ring so he can’t reach back and interfere with what’s about to happen. You gather the clothespins and a spreader bar and walk back to the other side. Quietly, you attach the spreader bar right behind his knees and turn it until his legs are spread the way you want them. “Do you know why there are nine of these?” you ask him as you pick up the first pin.  
  
“No.”  
  
You rub the inside of his leg with your palm, paying special attention to where his ass starts with that perfect alabaster fold of skin. When the jaws of the clothespin close around it, he cries out, “Oh _fuck_ , that hurts.”  
  
“You made me request or re-explain the behavior I wanted from you today nine times.”  
  
“Fuck, this hurts.”  
  
“Understand now?”  
  
The second pinch is right on the inside of his thigh, and his body shudders, “ _Christ._ ”  
  
“Answer my question,” you say as you attach the third one to his ass, “Because this is exactly what I’m talking about. When I ask you a question or ask you do something, I do not want to say it twice.”  
  
“Yes, I understand.”  
  
“And?”  
  
The fourth pinch, “And _fuck_ , I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit I have. I know.”  
  
“I will not tolerate any hesitation for free any longer. Anytime you hesitate or question me, I will punish you until the behavior is corrected. Do we understand each other?”  
  
Five, six and seven and he sounds like his voice begins to waver a bit, “Yes, sir.” He swallows hard and then exhales a slew of curse words. After eight, there are clothespins all over his ass. The ninth goes directly across from number one.  
  
“That was the last one,” you tell him.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Not ‘okay.’ Thank me. Thank me for taking time out of my busy day to correct your behavior.”  
  
“Thank you for taking the time to help me,” he says and his vocal cords sound like they’ve been stretched to the limit.  
  
You step right and open the night table drawer and remove his rather ambitious acrylic dildo and some lube which you pour on the head just to watch it slide down. “I don’t want you to experience this much pain without a little pleasure. Plus, I’m a little bored,” you tell him. He looks back and sees the shimmering toy and then puts his face in his hands and starts to beg, “Please, please no.”  
  
Your fingers are wet when you spread him and let him feel the hard head, “You don’t want a little pleasure? That’s not like you.”  
  
“This isn’t fair,” he complains, “I can’t come.”  
  
“I know,” you say as you watch his bottom swallow it…slowly, “That’s unfortunate, but it’s not my problem, and I’d like you to fuck it for me; entertain me a little.” His hips begin to work the toy; his head buried in the sheets. “Bring yourself to the brink, Justin.”  
  
“Oh god.”  
  
“I know you aren’t going to make me ask you twice.”  
  
“No, sir,” he says as his hips move a little faster. You tease him, reaching underneath him and stroking his cock a little, and now he understands why his legs were forced apart.  
  
“If you impress me, Justin, you might just get rewarded,” you offer as you squirt more lube in your hand. “Maybe that cock ring needs a break.” He watches your hand as you touch him again, one hand on his dildo and the other circling his balls and soaking the ring. Your work is slow and steady, and when you begin to inch it forward, Justin lifts his bound wrists a few inches and bangs them on the mattress in frustration.  
  
It's the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.  
  
Slowly, you work his balls out of the ring and now his cock isn’t much of an obstacle. He’s moaning in pain as the blood rushes back between his legs. He groans and then his hips stop moving; his body steeled against all the sensations. “Count to ten and let’s get this show on the road,” you warn him, and you hear him counting under his breath. When he gets to ‘ten,’ you poise your middle finger on the tip of your thumb and flick a clothespin off.  
  
“Okay, that...that is fucking _bullshit_ ,” he hisses.  
  
“Eight more to go. If I were you, I’d get back to fucking this thing; it might disguise some of the pain.”  
  
His head is up and looking straight ahead as he fucks the dildo, every time you hear a moan of pleasure from him, you flick off another clothespin, saving the last two for the moment he starts to come. There’s a slick sheen of sweat glistening down his back when you see his orgasm start; he pulls his hair and makes noises better left to the animal kingdom. “No, no, _no_ ,” he says when the last two clothespins are set free and the first white stripe escapes. **  
  
JUSTIN’S POV  
  
** In the first moments of the end of this trial, you feel hollow and lost, a slight worry that you weren’t able to process the pain that now haunts you as you float all alone. You fear that you weren’t able to turn it into pleasure fast enough, that it left before you could finish; you fear the sinuous emotional tether binding you to Brian, fear that it may fling you into outer space on a whim.  
  
He must sense something’s off.  
  
He’s conflicted about what to do, and you can’t advise him because you aren’t really here.  
  
 _Dilemma._  
  
“I’m going to get up for a just a minute,” he says, his voice thin and moving away from you, cast out on a line, “Just don’t move.” Your image of him gets blurry as he walks away; you feel your eyes watering with force. He’s back and the bathroom light is on, the door pulled almost shut, the light a broken letter L. The scent of a candle going out; you smell it before you feel the darkness.  
  
“I’m going to clean you up, okay?” he asks but he doesn’t wait for an answer; the warm washcloth waits on your stomach as your restraints are removed and thrown aside. And then slowly he begins to pass the wet terrycloth over your stomach, and then everywhere like he’s trying to touch you back to life. He wipes your face, eventually, and sees the path the water ran down your temples. “I don’t think these are tears,” he says like he’s reassuring you, “I think it’s just a release, okay?”  
  
He probably isn’t expecting you to answer him, but feeling the cloth on your face has awakened your nerve endings, and they’re organizing to speak—finally, “Okay.”  
  
He smiles at you, your face laying in his hand; his thumb brushes over your lips, “You’re okay…wherever you are.” Another reassurance. You close your eyes and press your face into his hand. “Listen,” he says, “Your mind is trying to organize this experience for you, but there’s no rush. Just tell it to stop.”  
  
“ _Stop,_ ” you whisper into his palm.  
  
“Let me put you under the covers,” he offers, “You’ll get cold soon.”  
  
He sits up and pulls the sheets back and lets you in first before he joins you. The weight of the sheets and blankets feels like a bookend to the loss you were wrestling with. Brian lies next to you and combs through your hair with his finger; under the comforter, your hand is curled into a lazy fist inside his. **  
  
BRIAN’S POV  
  
** You’re looking at him, but your mind is reeling through the quicksand of wondering if you hurt him, if you took him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.  
  
 _Top drop._  
  
You’ve read about it and been warned about it, but you’re too concerned about him so you push it away. It could steal you away from him, and you fear that more than anything. He soars so high when he’s at your mercy that sometimes you feel like he’s a helium balloon dying to break free and float away. You have to stay in the moment.  
  
And that’s not easy when you’ve mastered flat out stealing the moment and then blowing through it and leaving it in the dust. But somehow in this game with Justin, your moments matter less and less to you. He’s some kind of genius in the shape of a huge magnet that just sucks you back into his reality.  
  
But, then again, you kind of like it here.  
  
He’s lying on his back, eyes closed and just breathing when you kiss his shoulder. His hand inside yours-buried in the blankets-it moves, pulling your hand to his stomach and then lower. He’s hard again. You move slowly on top of him, taking your time, letting every inch of your skin meet every inch of his like he’s unbelievably fragile. He exhales, and you feel yourself sink with him, your hips heavy between his legs.  
  
You hope he forgives you for fucking him again. **  
  
JUSTIN’S POV  
  
** Brian inside you is the first thing that feels real. The rest of your body is still numb, refusing to come back for this gesture, but you can tell you need this, that’s it the only way back. This movement, it’s soothing and stubborn at the same time, and Brian’s upper body is beached on yours, his head lays heavy next to your ear, his hands cupped around your ass. He’s moaning like a song; it reverberates against your neck. _”Touch me,_ ” he breathes because maybe you need instructions for this fuck. You gather your arms and wrap them around him and squeeze, and his song gets louder only for a few moments, but not faster.  
  
He speaks again, the movement never stopping, “I know that was a new kind of pain for you, and not necessarily a kind you like. I did it to teach you a lesson.”  
  
“I know,” you say quietly, holding him more tightly than before.  
  
“I need to see improvement or I’ll punish you again.”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“Don’t think I enjoy it; I don’t--,” and then he stops moving and props himself up to look at you, “I feel that. You’re about to come.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
He growls a little and resumes the steady rock, “Never fucked anything as tight as you are.” And then he kisses you and you feel the heat from his mouth spread throughout your body, bringing back the pleasure and the pain to face off against each other. The thrusts get harder; Brian presses your knees down to your shoulders, holds his breath for a few seconds and then let’s the pleasure take over, lets it drive right into a head-on collision with you.  
  
You see it coming and purposely stand in the way.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 47**

**JUSTIN’S POV  
  
** _a little over an hour and a half later…_ **  
  
**You wake up in the dark dungeon and feel alone at first, but then you slowly extend a hand and feel Brian’s back and hear him snoring. He only snores like this when he’s really tired. You prop yourself up on your elbow and blink as your eyes adjust and realize that he’s definitely sound asleep, just on his side and turned away from you. You can tell from the shadows that his hands are tucked up beneath his pillow. Closer you edge until you’re beside him, behind him, and you just look at the outline of his body, his shoulder bare as the blanket has slipped away. You want to sketch him like this, the rolling hills of his shoulders, the valley of his lower back, the re-emergence of his hips and then the fading slope to his feet.  
  
A deep growl from your stomach exposes your most pressing need. You never ate lunch and you’re starving. It’s almost seven in the evening. Part of you wants to just get up and tiptoe out of this room and make sandwiches for both of you, but another part of you is afraid to leave without permission.  
  
Plus, you have no clothes.  
  
You ponder your choices, remembering how awful that punishment was, and decide that you’re going to wake him up. To date, you’ve never been punished for that.  
  
You inch ever closer to him, sliding your arm around his waist, kissing his shoulder blade; his breathing changes, it stops and then starts again, the deep tone of his voice filtering through it. “You okay?” he asks sleepily.  
  
“I need to eat something. You probably do, too. I’ll take care of it; I just…may I wear your shirt and go to the kitchen?”  
  
“What are you going to make?” he asks rolling onto his back.  
  
“Sandwiches?”  
  
He nods at you and motions that his shirt is in the chair, and as you finish dressing and head for the door, he says, “You know you’re not under house arrest, right?”  
  
“I’m trying to respect your rules, to make you happy,” you admit.  
  
He sits up, wrangling with the sheets he rolled himself up in. “C’mere,” he says, urging you away from the door.  
  
You take more steps on the cold stone floor to stand in front of him, and he puts his hands on your hips and draws you in, “I’ve very happy because you’re completely naked under my shirt.”  
  
“I have to go get us something to eat before I faint.”  
  
“You have five minutes.”  
  
“Five minutes? Come on!”  
  
Brian laughs, “Ten minutes and you’re back down here. Got it?” **  
  
BRIAN’S POV  
  
** You flop on your back when he’s gone and your mind rewinds to the minutes after that last fuck…  
  
This time Justin was really gone, riding an endorphin wave that practically put him in a trance. He wasn’t alone in that pleasure; it had infected you as well, but it was over-ridden by your vigilance. You lay your head on your pillow and gently stroked his cheek with the back of your hand. His eyes stared up at the ceiling. You listened to his breathing and stayed quiet. He wasn’t in any distress.  
  
It wasn’t lost on you in that moment how ironically the tables had turned in your relationship over the years. You find a twisted humor in how, in the early years, his persistent chase annoyed you, how you couldn’t tolerate feeling him need you, how it scared the shit out of you. Now he doesn’t chase you, but rather this high he gets.  
  
That used to be your job.  
  
 _You_ found the true thrill rides in the sexual landscape and fucked every one of them; you exploited them, manipulated them, made them thread-bare. And now Justin is doing the same thing to you. Whatever you taught him, it’s highly conceivable that you did it way too well.  
  
When he returns with the food and opens the door to the dungeon, the warm light from the wine cellar makes him look like an angel in your white shirt; the shape of his body solid beneath the glowing outline.  
  
He hands you a small plate and says, “I’m not sure if the turkey is still good, so I made peanut butter instead. Is that okay with you?”  
  
“Sure. Thanks.”  
  
Sitting cross-legged on the bed and biting into his the second half of his sandwich, he says, “I agree with the new schedule.”  
  
You pause, peanut butter stuck in your throat, “Really? Are you being serious?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
You feel unsure about this acquiescence of his, “Why? I mean, can I ask why because you were not on board earlier.”  
  
He seems a bit embarrassed by your question, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “It’s hard to explain.”  
  
“Is this because I punished you? Because it was--?”  
  
He cuts you off, “No. I deserved that. It’s not really about that.”  
  
You take his plate from him because you’re both finished and reach to sit them on the night table, “Do you _want_ to tell me why?”  
  
“Not really,” he admits and suddenly he feels too vulnerable to you. That particular feeling makes you cringe inside, so you offer a diversion, “Wanna take a shower?”  
  
He nods and scoots to the edge of the bed, begins to pull your shirt off, “Yeah, I still smell like turpentine from painting all day.” **  
  
JUSTIN’S POV  
  
** Brian refuses your participation in bathing. He won’t hand over the soap, the shampoo, or you. Underneath the water, the way he touches you makes the fact that there’s actual showering going on just an added bonus. And when you think you’re pretty much done, he doesn’t; he presses you against the wall, stares at you for a few dewy seconds, and then kisses you like he’s not going to see you for a hundred years when the water is shushed. Ordinarily, you would think all of this was just foreplay, but it’s not.  
  
It’s a spell of some kind or a battle for your soul, a fight that’s been decided over a decade ago.  
  
And this, although Brian doesn’t know it, is exactly why you agreed to his schedule. Because something mystical is happening between the two of you regardless of what day it is anymore. Chasing the pain-pleasure see saw feels like the preview to whatever this is.  
  
You reach around him and turn the water off when you realize he’s trembling.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 48**

**JUSTIN’S POV  
  
** Brian lies back on the bed after asking you to get his cigarettes, his pale aqua towel still wrapped around his hips. You light it, take a drag, and then walk over and hand it to him. You sit beside him and put your hand on his chest to see if he’s still shaking. He turns and reassures you, “I’m okay. It’s okay.”  
  
“You were trembling. You sort of scared me.”  
  
He blows smoke out of his nose and repeats himself, “I’m okay.”  
  
“I think you’re working too hard; you’re exhausted,” you offer. “You had three presentations in two days plus…what we’re doing. Maybe it’s too much. I don’t want you to go to work tomorrow.”  
  
“Don’t ‘mother’ me.”  
  
“Don’t get mad at me for caring about you, okay?”  
  
“I’m not mad at you at all. I’m just---,” and he stops talking and lets his words just evaporate.  
  
“Just what?” you press.  
  
“I think…,” Brian starts out slowly, “That I’m a little overwhelmed.”  
  
“Right. That’s what I said. Maybe you have too much on your plate right now.”  
  
He shakes his head at you, “No, that’s not what I mean.” **  
  
BRIAN’S POV  
  
** You have no idea how to explain this to him, to his scrubbed clean, naked body all warm from the shower sitting next to you as you lie on these sheets and try to think. You try to start, “I…don’t think I was ever…actually prepared for this….”  
  
Justin knows you so well now that he recalibrates his approach immediately, his hand rests on your shoulder, “I don’t think either of us were. It’s okay. We don’t have to be perfect, flawless people just because we’re both perfect, flawless people.”  
  
You roll your eyes and slap his stomach. “There’s an…insecurity….,” you say and you just let the word hang out there all by itself because you hate the taste of bile you get in your mouth anytime you say it.  
  
Justin speaks, “I thought—at first—that you were shaking because something was wrong, something physical, like you didn’t feel well, but you feel okay?”  
  
“Well, I feel fine except…that I don’t feel fine.”  
  
He nods and scoots a little closer to you so his knees are touching you. You rest your arm in his lap, and he borrows your cigarette for a few seconds. Then he coughs a little because he’s laughing; when he recovers, he says, “I thought that maybe you took too much Viagra or something.”  
  
You give him the crossest look you can muster. “Thanks. Thanks a lot for that.”  
  
He returns your cigarette to your fingers and smiles, “Oh, come on. You think I mind that you take it? I love it. My ass _adores_ it.”  
  
“That’s one, Justin.”  
  
“It should probably be five,” he quips, “But consider the subject dropped. You were saying that you don’t feel ‘fine.’”  
  
You slide your hand in the opening of your towel, close your eyes and just stroke yourself. Sometimes a relaxing rub focuses the mind. After a minute or so, Justin offers to take over; his words quiet and sincere, “I’d be happy to do that for you.” You end up doing it together, you tempering his enthusiasm and getting the speed very slow but constant. He tugs at your towel until it falls away on either side of your hips. “You’re so beautiful,” he sighs, “Sometimes I still can’t believe that I get to have you every night.”  
  
“Like the feeling isn’t mutual,” you say.  
  
“I’m not fishing for a compliment; I’m trying to give you one--one that you deserve.”  
  
Your eyelids flutter, “Yeah, thanks,” but you mean it.  
  
“So what is overwhelming you?” Justin asks, his hand still wrapped around your cock.  
  
……  
  
“I guess I feel like this has become about way more than spanking you.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
……  
  
“Is that what you wanted?” you ask.  
  
Justin smiles, takes your cigarette, stubs it out and then stretches out beside you, resuming his fondling, “I didn’t plan on wanting anything else, but I’m happy with where we are…if you are.”  
  
“I’m happy; I guess I get a little freaked out sometimes…. I thought this whole exercise would be about technique and new toys and—“  
  
Justin interrupts you, “And state-of-the-art dungeons and diamond-studded slave collars?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“And it’s so not,” he agrees.  
  
“You always say that I’m painfully honest, right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So in the spirit of complete honesty, I never expected this experience to bring up….all these…weird…things.”  
  
Justin stops stroking you and lays his head on your chest and says, “People call this ‘play,’ and I hate that word because this doesn’t feel like playing at all.”  
  
“These things…they freak me out.”  
  
“Like in the shower?”  
  
“Yeah,” you sigh.  
  
“Do you want to tell me what they are?” he asks.  
  
“Not really. I feel nauseous just having this conversation.”  
  
He laughs, “Me, too. Do they make you regret that we started this?”  
  
You shake your head, “No, not at all. It’s just that…they kind of flip everything on its head, you know?”  
  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“They make me doubt myself, and I never doubt myself, especially when I’m in bed with you.”  
  
Justin lifts his head up and gives you a tiny but sweet ‘you poor thing’ smile, “Okay, that’s ridiculous. I was serious when I said that I can’t believe I get to have you every night. That’s what started all of this—you making me so fucking crazy.”  
  
“Then we’re both fucking crazy. I think we’re addicted to this,” you admit.  
  
“Yeah but the only bad side effects are me not being able to sit comfortably and both of us being exhausted.”  
  
“No, the side effect is that you’re in my fucking brain,” you knock on your skull for emphasis, “All fucking day every day.”  
  
“And I wasn’t before?” he asks.  
  
“You were, but not like this. Before I would think about a restaurant I wanted to take you to or whether I could convince you to paint at the loft during the week so I could fuck you at lunch or how much it would cost to hire you to come blow me at work every day.”  
  
“You wouldn’t have to pay me to do that.”  
  
“You’d make me buy your gas and you know it.”  
  
He laughs, “Yeah, you’re right. The blow jobs are free, but I want mileage reimbursement.”  
  
“You’re the richest tightwad I know, Sunshine.”  
  
He sighs, “Just send a limousine every day. Problem solved.” You both laugh and he continues, “So, that’s what you thought about before; what do you think about now? How is it different?”  
  
You roll onto your side so you can face him, your fingers draped around his arm, “If I talk about this, I want you to talk about it, too. I don’t want to walk this plank by myself.”  
  
“That’s fair,” he says, “I’m okay with that.” You start to say something and he interjects, “But wait, I want to make something clear. You are never out on the plank by yourself. The way you feel about me, the way you take care of me when I’m flying through subspace, I want to do the same for you wherever you go. If you feel alone, then I’m not doing a very good job.”  
  
“No, no, that’s not true at all. I’ve never felt like I needed something from you that I wasn’t getting, Justin.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I’m more talking about the sense of responsibility I feel for this whole experience. I want to be exactly what you want me to be and then just a little bit better than that.”  
  
“You feel competitive about this? It sounds like that to me.”  
  
You take a deep breath in and then exhale trying to let your thoughts crystallize in your mind. “I don’t want to let you down.” He immediately shakes his head, but you keep going, “It doesn’t matter what you say or how much you reassure me, it’s how I feel about this…about pleasing you. I take it really seriously…maybe too seriously, but it’s how I feel. Don’t dismiss it. Because here’s the thing, from the moment I met you, I could always tell when you were happy in my bed and when you weren’t. I could read you and your hungry, tight little ass like a book. But the further we go down this path, the worse my vision gets. And when I see clouds instead of sunshine, well, apparently…I get really nervous.”  
  
Justin is quiet for about thirty agonizing seconds and then he scoots in to be closer to you, resting his head on your arm, his arm snug around your torso. Finally he speaks, “Brian, you never ever seem nervous to me, and I’m not nervous with you—not in any systemic way. I mean, I get the good kind of nervous when we do this. I like my nervousness, I guess.”  
  
You run your fingers through his still damp hair, “I like your version of it, too, much better than mine. We’re different people; we feel things in different ways.”  
  
“One of the reasons I love you so much is because you can still do that to me.”  
  
“I know, and it’s a testament to your tenacious blond perseverance that this has happened. No one else…no one else in the entire world…could’ve done this to me. No one.”  
  
“People were too busy being intimidated by you or jealous of you to see what I saw. You were a coin, a very gigantic and heavy coin, just dying to be flipped.” You smile at his characterization; his fingertips dance on your collar bone, “And I knew that if I could flip you once, every other flip would get progressively easier.”  
  
“Yes, and somehow you rigged the game so heads or tails, you win.”  
  
He grins; he likes that idea a lot, so much that he pulls your head down so he can kiss you. The whole maneuver gives you goose bumps, and somehow, you end up back on top of him feeling his legs spread and then coil around you.  
  
In that moment you know for certain that there is only one slave in this relationship.  
  
And it’s not him.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 49**

**BRIAN’S POV  
  
** It’s a cruel, hellish feeling to wake up later than you’re supposed to on Friday morning only to realize that you’re still down in the dungeon and that you have two flights of stairs to climb to get back to your bedroom to shower and dress for work. And it’s even crueler that the temperature in the outer basement feels about twenty below and the man you love gets to sleep through all of that. You don’t even have time to fuck him.  
  
 _Damnit._  
  
Sure, it’s your company, and you can come and go as you please, but trying to reel in three big clients in one week requires your presence. Back in your bedroom, you ponder how many balls you have up in the air as you tighten your tie and survey your still-broken marital bed. You have to wake Justin before you leave so he doesn’t sleep through the furniture delivery.  
  
He's lying on your pillow when you re-enter the dungeon; you shake an exposed shoulder and whisper, “ _Justin_.”  
  
He doesn’t even open his eyes, “No, no, no,” he protests. “I told you not to go to work.”  
  
“I have to. I have—“  
  
“ _And_ you didn’t even fuck me this morning.”  
  
“I woke up late. I didn’t hear my phone.” (You wonder if he turned it down…)  
  
“Blah, blah, blah,” he says, covering his head with the comforter.  
  
“Look, I’m running late as it is. You need to wake your ass up because the furniture could come as early as eight thirty.”  
  
“It’s _your_ job to wake my ass up, Mr. Kinney.”  
  
You yank the covers back after that comment and he cries out, “Hello?! It’s fucking freezing!”  
  
“Roll over,” you tell him, nudging him on his stomach so you can see the marks you fear from the night before.  
  
He looks back at you over his shoulder, “It’s bad, isn’t it?” There’s a reddish-purpley bruise for every clothespin you used.  
  
“It hurts,” you ask, “Bad?”  
  
“It hurts when I touch it.”  
  
“Well, stop touching yourself and try to spend the day on your stomach,” you suggest.  
  
“A process made much easier if you’d just stay home,” he tries.  
  
You lean down to kiss him good-bye and slap his hand because you know damn well he’s going to try to fuck up your hair. **  
  
JUSTIN’S POV  
  
** You sit down to pee after Brian leaves and immediately regret it. You examine your ass in the bathroom mirror and try to decide if the pattern of specific bruises could represent a constellation on your full moon. When you wander back into the dungeon bedroom, you see what you hadn't noticed before: your clothes from the car folded nicely in Brian’s chair. Your phone is on top of them and Brian’s turned it back on. Your shoes are parked perfectly on the floor. It's eight fifteen a.m. and the furniture could come anywhere between eight thirty a.m. and five p.m., so you get dressed and exit the dungeon.  
  
The truck is annoyingly early a mere ten minutes later while you're still battling with Brian's turbo-charged, personalized coffee maker, however, the men sent to unload and assemble your new bedroom suite make that much less of a bother. Ordinarily you don’t toil and fret over manual laborers, but these guys are always smiling at you, even when they initially survey the IKEA disaster in your bedroom. “You want all of this out of here, right?” they ask.  
  
“The bed frame yes, the mattress and everything else just need to be moved into a spare room down the hall.”  
  
“Will do,” the older one says, “Just sign right here that you’re giving us permission to take this bed frame.”  
  
You sign happily and then sound like an idiot with a school-boy crush, “I mean, who would want it. It’s so broken.”  
  
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” the guy says, “I could fix this up and sell it for a hundred bucks.”  
  
“Then go right ahead,” you say, feeling like you’re talking with your hands _way_ too much. You adjourn to your studio and begin a session of paranoid wondering… _Are they smiling at me like that because they know I got spanked in their store yesterday? Did they watch it on the security cameras? Am I the subject of blue collar gossip?_  
  
You don’t have long to ponder, though, because a few minutes later, the taller guy is standing in your doorway with a clipboard in his hand, “Sir? Excuse me, sir?”  
  
“You need me?” you ask.  
  
“Well…it’s just that we can’t disassemble the bed frame because there’s some sort of apparatus attached to it.”  
  
You follow him back to your bedroom because you don’t know what he means, but halfway down the hall, you remember: there’s a restraint system attached to it. The younger guy is standing over your encumbered bed frame, staring at it with a befuddled look on his face. “Maybe, uh, this is what broke it?” he says.  
  
You feel your face flushing as you apologize and begin unhooking it from all for corners, the metal rings and hardware practically making music as each piece tumbles to the floor. You gather the whole thing-a ball of leather and paracord--and take it back to your studio with you. They don’t bother you again for another twenty minutes or so, but eventually, Tall Dark and Blue Collar is back. “Um, sir?” he asks, “We have the new frame put together. Do you, um, need to put that thing back on while we get the new mattress?”  
  
You nod and pick up the black bundle and go back to your bedroom, extremely grateful that they aren’t going to watch you reassemble it—especially because you’re not as fast at this as Brian is. You always start with the wrong corner and have to readjust the whole fucking thing. And it isn't until the men are long gone and you're knee deep into a domestic nesting phase-breaking out clean sheets, swapping out the comforters, switching the shams, filling Brian's new dressers with the contents of the old--that you find another reason to be annoyed.  
  
Well, less annoyed and more angry.  
  
The reason, a once innocent piece of paper, a receipt actually, discovered as you went to file the paperwork for the new furniture, stares back at you from its accordion-like demeanor (having found it by accident when you realized that something was stuck in the back of the file drawer). You only read it because you were want to figure where to file it; Brian prefers a strict order to paperwork and the like...  
  
And you want to please him...even after re-reading the receipt.  
  
......  
  
You text Brian with an unrelated question...  
  
 _May I go ahead and shave myself?_  
  
The reply takes about eight minutes to arrive, time you spend sitting naked on your heated bathroom floor, ignoring the pain in your posterior.  
  
 _Sorry, just saw this, in mtg. Sure, go ahead._  
  
 _Ty_  
  
 _Thx 4 asking. How's your pain?_  
  
 _No higher than 7._  
  
 _Advil?_  
  
 _Yeah, I will._  
  
You start the shower, make it a little hotter than usual; Brian would fuss at you for drying out your skin but you don't care. You lean against the wall as the water pulsates on your chest and think about what you saw on that piece of paper...  
  
 _Release, Inc.  
  
Introduction to Rope Work, 3 hrs. $350  
  
Impact, Level 3, $150_  
  
... dated a few days before your slave experience.  
  
You look down to see that you've finished shaving yourself for him and don't even remember doing it.


	8. Maintenance 50-53 (ends Maintenance)

**~♥~MAINTENANCE 50-53~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 50**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** When you arrive home that Friday evening, it's earlier than usual. You don't warn Justin of this so he's not in the kitchen to greet you, but he hears you enter the house and calls, "I'm upstairs, Brian." You take the steps with purpose, excited just to be done with the week and to have time to focus on him again, and it's not until you actually step into your bedroom that you remember the new furniture. He's sitting in your easy chair by the window, dressed in his appropriate attire, curled up with his bare feet poking out of his gray pants.  
  
"You like it?" he asks with a smile as you survey the room.  
  
"Wow. It feels completely different in here."  
  
"It's majestic; isn't it?" he asks. He sounds excited. You walk over to a dresser and slide open a drawer as he adds, "I switched everything over. I tried to put everything exactly the way you like it."  
  
"It's so nice to have furniture that's not made for college-bound midgets," you observe.  
  
Justin laughs, "I know, okay? I know. The only reason I bought that set before was because it reminded me of the loft--"  
  
"I did _not_ have that shit in my loft."  
  
"No, I mean the style. I liked having a bed low to the ground. I could lie on my stomach and hang off the end and draw or read on the floor while you slept."  
  
"Well, that's the last low bed we'll have here--"  
  
"I know...because you're not a spring chicken anymore--"  
  
"That's one, Justin."  
  
He laughs as you continue to survey the room, sliding your palm over the smooth wood and then turn and wrap your fingers around a bed post. The dark cherry wood is arousing to you, and he can tell; he's watching you like a newly hatched hawk who refuses to leave the nest he's made in that chair. There's something odd going on, but you can't figure out what.  
  
Justin's face is half-turned toward the window when he says, "High end furniture makes you almost as horny as new clothes." He turns to face you again, "And watching you look at it makes me hard." He laughs a little to himself.  
  
"Everything arouses you these days," you comment.  
  
"True," he admits, his chin resting in his hand. "You missed the delivery guys. One was your type and one was mine, but both were hopelessly straight. I had to unfasten and re-attach that restraint system on the bed frame--"  
  
"Oh, I forgot about that."  
  
"Just saying you might need to check it before we use it again."  
  
"Okay," you say with a slight smile on your face; there's something about his demeanor that's intriguing to you. "Are you surgically attached to that chair by any chance?" you ask him.  
  
He keeps right on flirting with you, turning forward, crossing his legs like a pretzel, and beckoning you to come closer to him, so you walk up to him and put your hands in his outstretched ones. "Did you close those other two accounts?" he asks.  
  
"One for sure, and the other one is dicking around with me; they'll sign; they just seem to like the chase a bit too much. Get up and let me sit down."  
  
He complies and this weird game the two of you are playing goes up another mysterious notch. With your positions switched, he stands in front of you looking down at your face as you tell him, "You shaved yourself. Let me see."  
  
He pulls his pants down with more eagerness and pride than you're expecting, and his cock falls forward, hardening right in front of your mouth. He did a decent enough job and when you touch his smooth skin, he puts his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs stroking right behind your ears. You slide your hand down his thigh to get his pants to drop to the floor, and the pressure on your shoulder increases as he steps out of them and kicks them out of the way. You grasp his hip bones as you taste his cock, letting it lay on your tongue, teasing him by kissing the skin he shaved for just for you. He exhales loudly and squeezes your neck a little, his fingertips toying with the ends of your hair.  
  
"If it's not perfect," he whispers, "I'll do it again." There's a sincerity in his voice that throws you off just a little. You pause to address it, but then decide instead to turn him around, only you can't because as you put pressure on his hips, he resists you. "Turn around--" you say, but he shakes his head and refuses, "It's bad, Brian, all black and purple-ly."  
  
"All the more reason," you encourage.  
  
"I don't want you to see it."  
  
Your brow lowers, "Why not?"  
  
"Because you love my ass, and I don't want you to see it look so...ugly."  
  
"Turn around and lean on the table," you say as you turn his body toward the window. He's right; it's not pretty. You outline each bruise with your index finger, your lips brushing the center of each one.  
  
"It's a shame you had to be punished like this," you observe.  
  
"I know," he says, a quiet resolution in his voice.  
  
"But that doesn't release you from your obligations to me."  
  
"I know," he repeats.  
  
"Open," you tell him, loosening your grip on his thighs just enough to allow him to open his legs a few inches. You press his cheeks apart with your fingers and lick his asshole, smiling when he pushes up on his toes just enough.... A moan escapes from him but he tries to stop it in his throat. He doesn't see you smile at his effort. "Lets break in this new bed," you offer as you help him stand back up. You guide him over to the new mattress just a few feet away and indicate that he needs to bend over for you, "Just like you did at the store."  
  
His face on the bed, he watches you unbutton your shirt sleeves, roll them up, and then reach in the direction of your new nightstand, opening drawers until you find the wooden hair brush you're looking for. He looks mortified when you turn back toward him and place your open palm on his lower back to keep him still for this.  
  
"Brian, please...don't," he begs.  
  
The pain you bring him radiates from the back of his legs, nowhere near his bruises, and he's almost deliriously vocal through the entire session, the pinking of his skin starts right below the back of his knees darkening to a painful red the closer it gets to his ass. You lean over him when you're done, pulling at his hair, "I've thought about this all day; spanking you like this and then eating your sore bottom until you scream." You make quick work of your necktie and the buttons on your shirt as you kneel on the floor and press your chest against the hot skin on the back of his legs. "Be a good boy and relax," you tell him as you move your mouth inch by inch up the back of his thighs. You lick the bruises flanking the bottom of his cheeks and hear sounds of real pain bargaining with desire as your tongue slips between them. It's the gentlest rim job you've ever given him, but one you don't think he'll forget anytime soon. But you didn't rush home to be on your knees...  
 **  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** Earlier that afternoon, after you'd found the receipt from Release and before Brian came home, you did a little non-Brian approved research on Release's website. You poked around only to discover that you'd have to create an account to really see the information you were interested in. It felt like too big a step too take without Brian's knowledge, so you stopped. You thought about calling them and just asking, but with your luck, Dave or Geoff would answer the phone. How silly you thought--to still remember their names--when they only know you as a number.  
  
But now Brian's leading you off the bed and back over to the chair, only he makes it clear that the seat isn't for you, just for him, so you kneel there naked and watch him undress in front of you, a soft smile on his face. He's the only man you know who looks as intimidating in an Armani or birthday suit. He sits down and motions for you to come closer, to kneel between his thighs, and then he takes your face in his hands and says, "Look at me." You raise your eyes as he speaks, "Fucking you is probably not going to be an option tonight because of where those bruises are."  
  
"I like the pain," you suggest.  
  
"Not that kind of pain, you don't."  
  
"It's my fault, though. I misbehaved and was punished for good reason, and like you said, I have an obligation to you."  
  
"Yes, but you can fill your obligation in other ways."  
  
It's right at that moment, that you let your eyes drop for a second just to verify what you thought was true: he's not even hard. That really bothers you, enough to sound way too vulnerable when you whine, "But I want you inside me...Brian."  
  
"How many times have I told you that this isn't about what _you_ want?"  
  
You think about the receipt you found and decide to stop arguing with him, "Yes, you're right."  
  
"Thank you, and just to be clear, I could fuck this pouting mouth of yours all night long." He runs his thumb over your lips. "Couldn't I?" You nod even though he's still holding your face, and then so, so slowly, he guides your face forward, one of his hands releasing your chin to stroke himself. He pulls you close, so close you can smell the musky scent that's so distinctly him. "Show me that you understand what you're good for, Justin," he says in a low voice as he brings your hand up to his cock. "I've had a long day; take care of me."  
  
"I will," you say before your mouth is filled.  
  
At some point during the act, Brian smears lube on his thighs and then pulls your face in hard as his legs tighten around your skull. Your face slides back and forth as he fucks it, his hands clamped on the back of your head, his fingers greasing your hair. When he gets close to orgasm, he takes one of your hands and puts it on his balls as he begins a deep, guttural moan during the push to the back of your throat.  
  
He invites you up into the chair when it's over to sit gingerly on his lap while he kisses you. "I know you want to come," he whispers as he strokes you, but you stop him with a hand to his chest and offer up a different idea, "Actually, I want to talk."  
 **  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
**  
You knew something was up with him. The sincerity that you heard before is back, and it's a bit more determined than you're used to when he's at your mercy. You think you know what this is about...  
  
You reach behind you and pull the afghan that hangs on the back of the chair so you can wrap it around him; it's freezing outside and you're awfully close to the window. He accepts it and is looking down at his hands when you say, "I'm not comfortable fucking you when your ass looks like it's been on the wrong end of a bad relationship."  
  
"That's not what I want to talk about," he says matter-of-factly.  
  
You begin to get nervous, probably more than is warranted at the moment, but once this feeling starts percolating inside you, you tend to lose control of it. "What we did...it was too much?" you ask, your hands clasps around his waist beneath the blanket. "I really hurt you, didn't I?" you ask.  
  
Justin looks frustrated and sympathetic, "Brian, no, no. I need to ask you something, and you have to promise to tell me the truth."  
  
"Of course," you say, confused.  
  
"You're going to Release without me, aren't you?" You don't do a good job of hiding the perplexed look on your face and before you can say anything, Justin continues, now sounding pissed off, "I knew it. I fuckng knew it."  
  
"You know what?"  
  
He bends down and you feel his hand slide down beside your leg and before you can even ask what he's doing, he yanks a folded piece of paper out from between the chair cushion, "I found this today...completely by accident." He sort of waves it your face.  
  
"May I see it, please? I don't know what you're talking about." You chase his hand until you can grab the paper, unfolding it as he folds his arms across his chest. You raise your knees so he doesn't fall backwards. "Be careful," you warn him. He stares you down as you unfold the paper, most of it crumpled.  
  
"I found it when I was filing the paperwork for our new furniture. It was stuck in the back of the drawer in your desk."  
  
Your eyes skim the contents of the receipt and now you understand his increasing fury. "Okay...yes, I went there--" He starts trying to get off your lap and you grab him and hold him there. "Stop that. This was weeks ago. I started working with them as a client, remember? Well, as I was helping them figure out how to monetize a little better, I found out that they offer classes, so I took a couple." Justin looks at you like you're wearing a porcupine hat on your head or something. "You know, a class, like where there's a teacher and you learn shit."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Because it's none of your business. I took them for _you_ , to learn the right way to tie you up and how to do it safely and what kind of rope to use, and I took an advanced impact class. I placed out of the two lower levels." You smile because you're still sort of proud of that.  
  
"How did you 'place out?'"  
  
"They asked me questions about what we do and what you like and said that the first two would be a waste of my time, thank you very much." He looks a bit embarrassed but still unsatisfied so you say, "Just ask me what you really want to ask me."  
  
"Was Sixty in those classes?"  
  
"We used him as the model in the rope one. You have to have someone to tie up."  
  
"You could've taken me."  
  
"No," you shake your head, "I wanted to learn in a completely neutral situation. You would've freaked out in that environment as was true when I took you that day."  
  
"Well, he likes you."  
  
You grin, "You are so jealous."  
  
"Don't mock me like that."  
  
"Well, you are, and I kind of like it."  
  
"Well, you shouldn't like it because I'm really mad at you."  
  
"Justin, you need to understand a couple things that you would've learned yourself had you behaved like _you were supposed to_ when I brought you there."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means that 'slaves' behave according to the rules at Release. They are supposed to be attentive and appreciative to any Dom they come in contact with. They can only participate in things like classes and intro-environments if they are known for being compliant. He 'liked' me because he's supposed to."  
  
"That's bullshit."  
  
"That's two, Justin."  
  
"We're just talking."  
  
"Not when you act like this, we're not."  
  
"I don't want you doing things like this without my prior knowledge, Brian."  
  
"Tough. Shit. But thanks for proving what I already knew about you."  
  
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asks and again, tries to get off your lap. You won't let him.  
  
"It means that there's different kinds of submissiveness, and you're no slave, Justin. Not by a long shot. I thought you might like trying it out; that's why I took you there, but you aren't the least bit interested in serving me."  
  
And now he's really mad, " _You_ don't get to decide what _I_ am."  
  
"Then prove me wrong." And with that, he's off your lap and walking to the bathroom where he promptly slams the door and locks it.

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 51**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
** _fifteen minutes later..._  
  
A dark December evening is the only thing keeping you company as you walk down the country road you live on. The streetlights reflect in forgotten puddles; you re-wrap your scarf to keep you warm. You wonder if having a fully stocked dungeon increases or decreases the property value of a house or if the cold air will give you some much needed clarity. You kick a dead stick out of your way with the toe of your boot and curse at yourself for letting that episode with Justin spiral out of control like that; the physical pain you caused him in the past couple days is now the least of your concern. And yet, you're out here in the freezing cold without him, walking past lawns with so many Christmas lights that Santa will surely have a seizure before he makes it down anyone's chimney.  
  
You can't shake the feeling that you've made a big mistake.  
  
You left him alone because you didn't know what to do, because the only things on the tip of your tongue were things you'd regret. You left after leaving a post it on the bathroom door: _I went for a walk._ When you reach the stop sign at the end of the street, you turn back. Your footsteps quicken without your explicit permission, but you ignore it. You dig in your coat pocket for a cigarette and your lighter. The occasional winter wind makes lighting it a bit challenging; you turn your shoulder to it to make it successful. When you turn back around, and although you're several houses away, you see your front door open; you see the light in the foyer; you see Justin’s short, slim figure exit, close the door and lock it. You stand there bathed in a dark void between streetlights as you watch him walk the front sidewalk and then down the driveway.  
  
He's looking for you.  
  
You don't know what happens when he finds you.  
  
You only know it won't be long.  
  
*+*+*+*+*  
His hands are shoved into his black peacoat; his jeans hang too long over his sneakers. He has a black knit hat on his head; he's seen you standing there. When he arrives at the spot where you're standing, he looks up at you with an expression you can't decode. "Brian, are you all right?" he asks, no emotion in his voice.  
  
"I don't know. Are you?"  
  
"I don't really know. Want to keep walking?" he asks.  
  
"Sure," you agree, turning around and heading back to the stop sign you just came from. "No," he says pulling on your arm, "Let's go the other way."  
  
"That way just goes on forever," you point out.  
  
"So? Got somewhere you need to be?"  
  
"Not really," you concede.  
  
He slides his hand around your arm as you walk down the street together, an intimate gesture that takes you off guard given your current moods. You wish you'd had a couple of stiff drinks before you left the house. The two of you walk back past your own front door and down the less festive side of the road, the side where several houses sit empty from foreclosure or with 'for sale' signs in their yards. It's remarkably darker than the well-traveled end of the street. You stop in front of an empty house with a downhill driveway and just look into his blue eyes. "What?" he asks.  
  
"Without trust, you and I have nothing," you say, and then you start walking again.  
  
His pace resumes as well,"You think I don't know that?"  
  
"I don't know what you know," you tell him, "But I'll tell you this much: I don't like being fucked with like that."  
  
"I don't even know what you mean by that, Brian."  
  
"I mean that I don't appreciate you consenting to our usual routine when you knew you were going to ambush me like that."  
  
Justin sighs, "I didn't know. I wasn't even sure I was going to bring it up tonight."  
  
For some reason, that makes you even madder, and a big part of you wants to hide this anger because maybe it’s misplaced or off base and because he has zero feeling in his voice, and you want to punish him for that. “Sometimes you make things so fucking difficult,” you say.  
  
“You’re really angry, Brian,” he offers and yet he’s still clinging to your fucking arm and propelling you forward down this fucking street in the fucking cold. The only response you can safely utter is, “Yep.”  
  
“It’s okay if you are. Really.”  
  
Your cigarette has to hold on for dear life as you wave your free arm in the cold air, “Why are you saying this to me? You’re the one who got pissed off and locked yourself in the bathroom.”  
  
“I was in a bad place; I could feel it. I felt scared...and unprotected. That’s why...I did that.”  
  
You stop dead in your tracks and separate your bodies so you can stare down at him and give him a piece of your mind, “Don’t you think I fucking know that? It’s my job to protect you and I do _not_ like it when you won’t let me.”  
  
“I know,” he says to the asphalt, “You take this stuff very seriously--”  
  
“Oh, fuck you, Justin.”  
  
“No, I’m being serious. You do, and it's my fault that I don't show you that often enough. It’s why I feel safe with you; it’s why I’m standing out here right now and not curled up in bed waiting for you to come home.”  
  
You flick your cigarette into some abandoned yard and proceed to light another, “I would never do to you what you just did to me. I would never purposely leave you exposed like that, and we are not getting into our new bed until we resolve this mess,” you tell him.  
  
“Then let’s resolve it,” he says, still calm.  
  
You take a deep, deep breath, exhale, and start walking again, and again, he holds onto you.  
  
*+*+*+*+* **  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** These moments with Brian on the dark street are unsettling and sort of scary, but it feels like it might be the right kind of unsettling. You don't fault him for feeling angry; you appreciate it, actually. You spent years dying for any kind of real emotion from him, and now you have it. But you have a dilemma as well because in all your years of desiring him, you never put a label on it. You just know what you like. Recent events are beginning to complicate that simplicity.

Last night in the dungeon, he began to really share with you how toying with the power dynamic in your relationship makes him feel. His revelations made you feel sort of inadequate, not in between the sheets necessarily, but in your capacity to support and care for him. You'd never given much thought to how different his side of the equation looks. As long as he got the answer right, little else mattered. And it never dawned on you to consider the natural course of evolution for someone like Brian, someone who you knew was obsessed with all things sexual from the moment you met him; did you honestly think that adding another layer to that wouldn't be met with full on determination?  
  
You come to the end of your street where you're forced to turn left or right and without conversation; Brian turns the two of you back around and begins the trek back to the house. You walk most of it in silence, though he occasionally points to things like partially frozen puddles you shouldn't step in. Once you're back to the driveway, holding onto his arm turns into holding his leather-gloved hand but only for a few seconds. He stops on the front stoop and lights another cigarette, smokes a few drags and puts it out while your cold fingers fumble with the keys. Once inside, you both cluster around the rug beneath the coat rack, removing your winter wear and leaving your shoes behind.  
  
"I think I'm going to scramble some eggs," Brian says, "We haven't eaten, and it's giving me a headache."  
  
"That's fine. Eggs are great. I have to piss; I'll be there in a minute." Moments later, you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, your disheveled outer appearance mirroring the way you feel on the inside.  
  
You both eat standing up, dinner a quick memory after just a few bites. You clean up and find him in the front living room, one of the most formal rooms in the house, the room he once proposed to you in. Brian is standing at the hutch pouring himself a drink. He motions in your direction but you decline one. You turn on the fireplace and sit on the stiff, ornate sofa. With only the flames and the tiny bulbs on your designer Christmas tree to light the room, you're both comfortably shielded in shadows. When Brian joins you, he sits at the other end. "I think we need to talk about some stuff," you start and Brian nods. You keep going, "I sort of feel like the deeper we get into this lifestyle, the less of a good partner I am to you."  
  
"That is total bull shit."  
  
"Okay, so you’re allowed to feel insecure, but I’m not allowed to feel inadequate?”  
  
"I'm not the least bit interested in playing the emotional see-saw game."  
  
You decide to just be quiet after that; his hostility is off-putting to you; it makes you want to run and hide again. After a few minutes of silence and cleaning over-looked chalk and paint out from under your fingernails, you tell him, "You know what? I would like a drink."  
  
"Okay," he says and pours himself another in the process.  
  
After he hands it to you, you take another stab at the problem, "Brian, if you know why you're so angry, you can tell me. I want to know."  
  
His arm rests outstretched on the back of the sofa as he takes in a long, deep breath through his nose, "I'm flattered that you're jealous of those collared boys at Release, but it...."  
  
"Hurts you that I don't trust you?" you try, "Or that you think I don't trust you, rather."  
  
"It infuriates me. I've given you no reason not to trust me."  
  
"You're right. It's just jealousy, Brian. You know, sometimes I forget that you're not the guy getting hit on a hundred times a day anymore--"  
  
"Okay, seriously? I get hit on constantly. I just don't care anymore."  
  
"Yeah, but I don't have to see it like I used to. Being at that place just put it back in front of my face, and I thought I'd dealt with it and then I found that receipt, and I sort of lost it."  
  
"I took those classes for _us_ , Justin. You should be flattered."  
  
"I am, actually. I think it's sweet." Brian rolls his eyes at you. "I just wish you'd told me, even if I couldn't go with you."  
  
"See this is the thing that's really frustrating me, actually. You trusting me means you trust the decisions I make for you. I thought that's what you wanted, Justin."  
  
"I thought it was, too."  
  
*+*+*+*+* **  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** This--his inability to articulate what he wants--this has been the worry in the back of your mind since this facet of your relationship became front and center in your lives. And now, it's the reason that you tell him, "I'm canceling the rest of this week. With the state of your ass and these issues, we'll try it again after Christmas." He is instantly displeased and unable to hide it. "Wow, that look you just gave me sent me straight to hell," you tell him.  
  
"You need to give me time to respond; I'm not as fast as you," he warns you. "I haven't had my entire persona formed since age two."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"I have a very hard time feeling your anger and thinking my own thoughts. One tends to overpower the other."  
  
"Well, then don't feel my anger. It's mine, not yours."  
  
"That's what I'm _trying_ to do. Could you just shut up for a few minutes?"  
  
You do what he says. You kind of want to flip through a magazine or something while you wait, but you don't. You concentrate on the flames in the firepace and try to daydream a little. When that doesn't work, you make another suggestion, "Why don't I go upstairs and take a shower? You can do whatever you want; I mean, you can come, too, if you want or stay down here and gather your thoughts."  
  
Justin gives you a weak smile and finally says, "Okay. Go ahead, I think I'm going to stay down here and think."  
  
"It's gonna be a long one," you tell him, "I'm gonna use up _all_ the hot water." He throws his hands up as if to say 'whatever.' You're halfway up the staircase when he calls to you from the living room, "Brian?"  
  
You stop ascending, "Yeah?"  
  
"I like that you make the decisions when we're on schedule, but you can't just cancel our time together like that. That decision you don't make by yourself. We have to discuss it if one of us wants to cancel, okay?"  
  
You answer him through walls of wooden paneling, "Sure. That's fair. I take it back."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome, Justin."  
  
*+*+*+*+*  
 _twenty minutes later_  
  
You've given up on him joining you when the bathroom door opens and the light goes off. "What are you doing?" you ask him, blinking as your eyes adjust. There's a weird light coming from the bedroom and eventually, you can see well enough. He steps into the stream with you, complaining, "When you were fucking my face earlier, you got lube in my hair."  
  
You hand him the shampoo and shrug your shoulders, "Shit happens."  
  
"If I ever got lube in your hair, there'd be a Congressional hearing," he says. You laugh and he smiles, "Thanks for un-canceling our time. What we do...it means a lot to me."  
  
"I know it does," and somehow he knows that it means something to you, too, and he doesn't need you to say it. He surprises you by stepping forward and hugging you, his arms loose around your waist. "Is it okay if I wash you?" you ask him, "I'll be gentle."  
  
"Sure," he says, pressing his cheek to your chest. "I'll wash you, too."  
  
"I'm already done, but thank you."  
  
You keep one hand on the back of his head while the other moves a soapy sponge everywhere that you can reach; you separate so you can wash his torso. The raw intimacy brings up feelings you aren't expecting, "You know, we have to take care of this thing we have; it's fragile."  
  
"I know," Justin says, "It's so strong and yet so breakable at the same time that it gets tricky."  
  
"I'm glad you came up here to join me."  
  
"Me, too."  
  
When the two of you are out of the shower, you step to the edge of the bathroom to see why the light in the bedroom looks weird. You're a little surprised when you see white candles scattered across almost every surface. You ask a dumb question, "You did this?"  
  
"It's our first night in a new bed," he says as he dries off, "It should be special."

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 52**

**JUSTIN'S POV**

Oftentimes, atmosphere can be everything to Brian. You've been with him long enough to know that an aesthetic can do more to lighten his mood or win his approval than anything else. You even pay attention to the way he likes his food positioned on a plate. You've served him a meal he hated and then a month later served it to him again with a different presentation, and he loves it.  
  
He likes these candles.  
  
He smiles at you as he 'discreetly' peeks to make sure the wax won't drip on the new furniture, as if you'd let that happen. You think that your next destination will be your new bed, but you're wrong. He stands in front of you just outside the bathroom and gives you this overtly kind smile as he loosens your towel and tosses it aside, and then he takes your hand and leads you back to the chair where you fought. With his towel still tight around his waist, he sits down and then tugs on your hand to signal that you're to kneel on the floor in front of him. "I'm not finished with you," he says as you comply. When you give him a concerned look, he touches your wet hair and slides his hand down the back of your head, "Since we're not canceling our activities this week, I need to talk to you, and you need to listen." You nod and Brian continues, "I don't need you to be a slave for me or fulfill any stereotypical role that you imagine in your head. As long as we both get what we want out of this little exercise, I'm perfectly fine. I do expect deference, though, when we're on schedule, and I won't continue this if I don't get it from you. Do you understand me?"  
  
"Yes." Before he seemed angry; now he seems determined.  
  
Brian continues, "What happened in this chair earlier tonight will not happen again. If there's something on your mind when you're supposed to be across my lap, then you will use your safeword and stop the scene before bringing it up or I will punish you. And trust me, it won't be a punishment that you secretly like; it will be something you hate, like cleaning the dungeon naked on your hands and knees with your toothbrush. I understand that we're apart all day, and that that's a challenge in this situation. If something's bothering you, and we need to talk about it in person when I come home, you can call me or email me or text me or just let me know when I walk in the door that you need some time with me before we begin our routine."  
  
"Okay." That long shower he took...something happened in there prior to your appearance.  
  
"And to take the emotional grenade aspect out of it, that goes for whatever it is--like you need me to fix a ceiling fan, or you're having a hard time with some aspect of what we're doing. You don't need to explain when you contact me, just let me know that we need to take care of something when I get home."  
  
"Yes, sir," you say, and you realize that it's the first time you don't feel sort of goofy saying that to him. It feels like the first time that you mean it. You reach up and put your hands on his knees; his hand rests on your arm.  
  
"Now I want to explain to you what I want out of this, and when I say 'want,' I might as well substitute the word 'need' because that's what I really mean." You smile at him and feel a strange mix of happiness and trepidation bubbling up inside you, "Okay."  
  
His fingers curl and tighten around your arm; he clears his throat, "I've given this a lot of thought, and the bottom line is that I need to take care of you, Justin. That used to mean buying a house for us and making money and being your partner, but now it means something much more tactile and illicit. I want to preface this by saying that I'm under no illusions here about who's really in charge--you are. This started because of you, and it will continue only as long as you want it to, but as long as it does, these are my terms: I no longer just want to spank you and fuck you and boss you around when we're on schedule; I want to own you--physically and emotionally, and depending on how poorly you play your cards, possibly even mentally. I had the very tight and distinct pleasure of taking your virginity, and now I'm going to take the rest of you. Are you with me so far?"  
  
"Yes, sir." He makes you crazy when he gets like this. He lifts your arm, feels your pulse racing and smiles like a king.  
  
"I'm going to teach you to crave everything that ultimately leaves you exposed and vulnerable. You're going to trust me and beg me to do it, no matter how uncomfortable the trip is, and you're going to let me bring you home safe and sound. This is about you and me--only--and I won't ever expect you to obey anyone else nor will I tolerate it."  
  
"Thank you," you say and then swallow hard. You feel so bare for this experience; your erection at odds with your insecurities. You know it's why he wants you nude for this conversation; your physical responses excite him.  
  
"This journey we take together, our little routines, that look you get in your eyes when you're flying, it emboldens me like I never quite expected. It's become really important to me--as important as 'forgetting' your name the first ten times I fucked you." You laugh a little because he actually used air quotes and because he's never admitted that out loud to you before.  
  
You slide your hands further up his thighs and try to steady yourself because you feel sort of light-headed as he talks, "And look, I understand that you and I are rarely on the same page with expressing this stuff. And as much as I want to plug your little brain into my computer and download every bit of info I can get about what this experience means for you, I understand that you're not trying to keep things from me; you just come to these things in your own time." You look down because a tear is threatening to escape your eye. You stop it. He pauses and strokes your hair again, "It's okay, Justin. I get demanding about this, but then I remember how fucking brave you are, how I could never unveil myself to you like you do to me with so much uncertainty; you always have."  
  
"Because I trust you," you say to the rug.  
  
"I know, and it's a double-edged sword because I think you trust me because I'm demanding, but being demanding can also make you start to unravel."  
  
You always knew from that very first night on Liberty Avenue that this man you were meeting was no fool, but it's oddly satisfying to hear him tell you that he understands the power of his demeanor, that he's willing to confront it, play with it, and if necessary, push it further along. "Brian, I need to say something."  
  
"By all means, please go ahead."  
  
You take a breath that feels like it's fighting your lungs, "It's hard for me to categorize what I want out of this. I don't think I fall into a 'slave' category very neatly or any other category; I don't know what to call what I am. I feel like I'm just learning as I go. We try something and then I sort of go 'yay' or 'nay' in my head."  
  
"That's okay. Nothing wrong with that."  
  
"Except that it frustrates you, my lack of definition, and I never want to frustrate you. I want to know that I'm capable of bringing you as much pleasure as you bring me; it's important to me that you know that."  
  
"Aw, Sunshine," Brian says, and he pulls you in so you can rest your head on the inside of his thigh as he rubs your upper back. You smell the scent of his soap and your laundry detergent. He continues, "I don’t think about what I want for me very often anymore. Part of that’s because pleasing you or figuring out how to is much more exciting, and part of it is because I don’t need to anymore. I get in bed with you every night and never worry for one second about having to fall asleep unsatisfied. I can’t remember the last time that word has even crossed my mind.” And then he breathes out like he’s relieved and leans forward a little, encapsulating you, “I need to help you see that a little better, and anytime you're ready to tell me more, I'm always ready to hear it, but for now--" and then he stops talking and leans back to un-tuck his towel and expose himself to you. You breathe him in and then plant a few kisses along the side of his cock. " _Yes,_ " he says stroking your face and tilting your head back a little so he can see your eyes, "I need you to turn around and lie down on your back so your head is right in front of my feet." You attempt to follow his directions but he's turning you around and making it happen anyway, and when he gets you in the right position, he comes down on top of you on all fours, his knees by your shoulders. He reaches back between his legs and opens your mouth with his thumb and index finger. He slides his finger across your tongue and then paints your lips with the wetness. "You're going to be a very good boy and eat me until I'm ready to stuff my cock down your throat."  
  
You feel the floor underneath you melting away when you reach up and guide his ass to your mouth and then you taste him--licking him and getting his scent, his flavor; the texture of his skin gives you a rush, and the more gusto you demonstrate, the more he moans his appreciation, his face laying on your stomach right next to your dick. Every time he kisses your belly, you get a chill through the lower half of your body. Sometimes you suck on his puckered skin just to hear Brian make a guttural sound you love. He strokes himself while you're rimming him, stringing together a lot of moaning and filthy language. You know he's getting ready to choke you with his cock. He's panting when he pivots so his dick is hanging over your mouth; he drips a little on your tongue before you take him. "I want...your mouth...your face...to be sore when I'm done with you; I want you to look like a used up little whore." The pleasure that starts to pulse through you makes your muscles twitch like you're being shocked with electricity; you start to salivate as his dick hits the back of your throat; he does nothing to contain his desire; you have to put your hands up on your head to stop your skull from hitting the base of the chair; it's impossible to do anything to moderate his thrusts. Spit runs out the sides of your mouth and trails down your cheeks from the sheer pressure.  
  
Brian speaks in half-huffed words when he's climbing to orgasm; his body angles down, his hands curl around your ass cheeks and squeeze as you feel the squirting start. You open your eyes to watch his ass contract, to see the muscles in his legs turn to hardened steel. Come splashes out on your face.  
  
You love this man and everything he makes you do.  
  
.......  
  
Brian turns one hundred and eighty degrees when he's finished and lies on top of you surveying the wet mess on your face, "You understand that it's your job to make sure I have a warm, wet hole to fuck when I come home?"  
  
"Yes, and I'm happy to do that for you."  
  
"Oh wow, he can be taught," he snarks. "I like when your lips are all red and swollen," he says as he traces them with his thumb, and then he kisses you, and it's rough and deep and a physical reiteration of what he demands. "And because you were a such a perfect fuck toy for me, we're going to get in our new bed, and I'm going to take very good care of you tonight."  
  
You smile widely.  
  
*+*+*+*+* **  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** You're the first one to turn down the new bed, and he's the first one to lie on the sheets. You straddle him as he lies on his stomach, a tube of moisturizer tucked under your arm as you lather up your hands. "Is that my new stuff?" Justin asks, "It smells like it."  
  
"Yes, it is. And at the rate you go through it, I'm going to have to put a case of it in your stocking this year."  
  
"I'm so okay with that."  
  
"Close your eyes," you say as you press on his shoulders and then slide your hands down his arms. You want him to feel how much you appreciate his body and what it goes through for you. The difference in your sizes is never lost on you in these moments; it can make you feel like you've been a bully to him, making you want to mend the supposed offense with your hands. You work your way over his shoulders and then down his back, being careful not to sit on his ass or put too much pressure on it as you smooth the lotion over his bruised skin. You work on each leg separately, and when you're done, you ask him to roll over so you can work on the front of his body. His eyes open as he lies there; he smiles at you and arches his back when you get to his cock. "I want you to masturbate for me," you say.  
  
"Okay," he breathes. Your suggestion seems to make him rather blissful. You don't have to wonder what he looks like when he does this anymore because you've watched him from the survellaince cameras all over your house, but being here when it's happening is very different. For the first time, you notice the bit of his own seduction he submits himself to, how he closes his eyes, touches his chest and his stomach with one hand and then reaches up and grabs the headboard with the other. You get to actually listen to his breathing as it changes, hear the short, impatient moaning start. He isn't just rubbing one out so he can sleep; this is something altogether different and unexpectedly more intimate. "Touch me," he says with swollen lips as his fingers roll over the beading head of his cock. You position yourself between his spread legs, his knees bent and pointing in opposite directions. You put a hand on each thigh and hold them still. You have him pinned so he can't pump his hips, though you can definitely feel him trying. "Please," he moans, "Let me."  
  
You ignore his request, "Tell me what you're picturing in your mind."  
  
His eyes are closed; his free hand keeps slipping off the headboard and twining through his hair in frustration. "You're here. You're home from work," he whispers.  
  
"Where is 'here?'"  
  
"In the...kitchen," his voice labors, "You're kissing me; your hand is in my pants."  
  
"On your ass?" you ask, grinning.  
  
"Yes...god...," he resorts to letting the top half of his body convulse, pleasure rolls through his torso like a wave. "You do that thing where you lift me up a little so your finger can slide down...my crack."  
  
"I'm good at that."  
  
"Very."  
  
"Keep talking," you tell him.  
  
His eyes are closed, "I'm in trouble," he says, "You're going to punish me."  
  
You smile even though he's not looking at you, "Why? What did you do?"  
  
"Who knows?" he says, "Who cares?"  
  
"There must be a reason," you try again.  
  
"Reasons don't matter to me," he divulges in an unguarded moment.  
  
"Hmm...," you say, "I'll accept that. What's going to happen to you?"  
  
Justin's eyes fixate on the ceiling; you feel like you can see the thoughts racing through his mind like it's a microfiche machine. "Whatever I've done," he says, "Whatever it was, it embarrassed you or made you look bad or something. You're furious."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"Because of what you're going to do to me." The trepidation is his voice makes you touch yourself. "You make me undo your belt," he continues while his head starts to thrash on his pillow, " _No_."  
  
"Pull it out and hand it to me," you tell him, stepping into his fantasy.  
  
"I don't want to be in front of the windows, Brian; please, don't."  
  
Hearing him say your name in this context sends a chill down your spine and straight to your cock. You like where this is going, "You mean the neighbors can see you? We're in the front room?"  
  
"Yes...you're practically dragging me there...please...don't...open the curtains." His body rustles in the sheets like he's been possessed with a spirit that refuses to be still.  
  
"They're wide open now," you say. "Am I sitting in the chair right by the window?"  
  
"Yes, sir." His back arches over and over, his nipples are a deep red.  
  
"What happens?"  
  
"You make me apologize for what I did... and bend over your lap."  
  
"And then what?"  
  
"You make me pull my pants down."  
  
"How far down?"  
  
"All the way... _god, punish me_."  
  
"What does that mean?" you prod.  
  
"No warm up...just the belt." You almost say something, but he keeps going, "I fight you; I try to move, but you grab me and hold me down."  
  
"And now we'll just start over," you tell him.  
  
"No, please. I'll be still."  
  
…..  
  
"Tell me what my belt feels like."  
  
…...  
  
"It stings," he hisses, "It burns like a bitch and every time I feel it--". He feels the mattress shift when you move; his eyes open and fixate on your lubed hand sliding down your dick. He objects, "No, Brian, don't."  
  
"Shhh, go back to the living room."  
  
"But my bruises," he whines when you rock forward and push his knees back by his ears.  
  
"You need to be fucked," you tell him, your lips inches from his, "You know you do. I'll go slow; you'll go back to the living room. Tell me how my belt feels." He holds his breath as you negotiate your way inside him, careful to not let the full weight of your body accompany the thrust. He presses his hands on your biceps trying to keep the experience shallow. He should know better, but you're sweet about it, kissing his cheekbones, his forehead. "I like you tight, Justin, but this is a bit much. Relax so this isn't hell for you, and _tell me how my belt feels."_  
  
He speaks with an escaped breath after each sentence, "It stings. It burns. It makes me... _god I'm wet."_  
  
"Good boy. Are you hard now? Across my lap?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"All it took was a little humiliation to get you there, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm going to come when you come, Justin," you tell him, a voice from the present.  
  
"You're going to pound me; I can feel it."  
  
You don't deny it, "You'll be coming; you won't care." You circle his head with your arms, breathe steam into his ear and reach between you to touch his hand on his dick, "Do you need me to make this happen and punish you for disobeying me, or can you handle it?"  
  
"I can handle it," he says.  
  
"Then handle it."  
  
He moans as you kiss his neck. You can feel the pleasure ripple back and forth inside him like a pinball desperate to get out of the machine as his hand moves. He makes a beautiful sound and then stops breathing for a moment when the first stripe shoots up his chest. You feel the hot liquid on your chest, see a drop land right at the base of his neck and immediately lick it off.  
  
......  
  
"You didn't come when I did," he complains.  
  
"Yeah, I kind of lied about that. I'm going to do that now."  
  
Your hips drop low to be nice and deep inside him and then begin to snap back and forth. He digs his nails into your upper arms, and when he feels you lose control and start sliding into orgasm, he whispers in your ear in the bitchy scolding voice you love, "This is your _third_ time tonight. You took more than half of a pill, Brian."  
  
He may be a slut, but he's a smart one. "Like you said...first night in our new bed should be special."

**~♥~**

**MAINTENANCE 53  
**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
  
** You've never seen him smile so much after an evening like this. He's present, not floating away; he's touching you everywhere, watching his hands as they skate across your skin. "Justin," you say, "That was pretty amazing."  
  
He grins even wider, "Yeah, that was unbelievable. I really, really liked that." His voice is strong and positive; you're not used to this side of him being present during afterplay. He watches you as you move around the perimeter of the room extinguishing flames and end up back in bed with him, the room dark save the dying orange embers left on a few stubborn candles. He curls his body back against yours, his hands resting on top of yours on his stomach. "I'm going to paint this soon," he says, "This is so cool."  
  
"Kind of romantic, huh?"  
  
"Yeah...." A few seconds of silence pass, and then he turns his head back to look at you. You think he's going to say something, but he just kisses you, his body slowly spinning so your chest is against his. He's running the show, pulling away just to come right back. "Thank you," he says at one point.  
  
"You're welcome. What exactly are you thanking me for?"  
  
He moves his hands so they're holding onto either side of your face and whispers in your ear, "For bringing that Brian Kinney home tonight."  
  
Seeing him so happy and satisfied gives you a bizarre feeling in you stomach. "You're welcome," you tell him, "I never let him drive, though; I make him ride in the backseat. He's a total asshole; he'll run every red light."  
  
"He's my asshole," Justin says about your alter ego, "So give him whatever he wants."  
  
"Why?" you ask, teasing him, "Because you do?"  
  
He has such a satisfied and mischievous look on his face when he replies, "I plan to give him more than he can handle...."  
  
Your lips roll in, "Oh yeah?"  
  
"Count on it...Mr. Kinney."  
  
You flatten him, kissing him like all life on earth depends on it.  
......  
  
"Will you tell me about the classes you took? What were they like?" he asks a few minutes later.  
  
"Honestly, the rope one was grueling. I had the bright idea to do all three hours in one afternoon. I went back to my office afterwards and took a fucking nap." He looks up at you and laughs. "It felt like two-thirds CPR class and one third kinky stuff. They teach you all these things about how long to keep someone in certain positions--"  
  
"Did they teach how to suspend me from the ceiling?" he asks with humor in his voice.  
  
"No, that's an advanced class. I learned how to tie some secure knots and how a lot of it is about wrapping, actually, and using the right rope for the job. I could hog tie you if I wanted too, though."  
  
"Do you want to?" he asks.  
  
"Well, here's what I discovered about myself taking that class: bondage is a long game and I'm not very patient. To really tie someone's whole body up with just rope takes quite a while, and that's for the guys who are good at it. I have a new appreciation for all-in-one restraint systems."  
  
"What about the other class?"  
  
You smile, "That one was more fun. It was much shorter, for one thing, and I got to try out just about every implement you could think of--"  
  
"You know, when you flogged me all over with that soft leather flogger in the dungeon, it felt amazing. It wasn't painful, but it was like it woke up every nerve ending in my entire body."  
  
"Yeah?" you ask; his revelation makes you happy.  
  
"Yeah. Maybe I could take a class there like that and get to see what all those implements feel like?" he asks you.  
  
"Um, no. You'll learn that from me."  
  
"Okay, well, maybe I'll just ask Santa for a class for Christmas," Justin suggests.  
  
You laugh, "You're a registered slave there. You can't do anything there without my written permission."  
  
"You mean like I'd need a permission slip?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"No biggie; I can forge your signature. I do it at the bank all the time."  
  
"Oh, you are so hilarious, Mr. Taylor."  
  
He props himself up on his elbows, "Wait a minute, is that why you took me there that day? To get me registered so I couldn't do anything there on my own?"  
  
"I'm gonna plead the fifth on that," you tell him.  
  
"Brian, you are one sneaky bastard."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Well," he speculates with a smirk on his face, "They can't be the only game in town."  
  
"Perhaps, but remember, there's no way you win this game, Sunshine."  
  
"I know," he sighs, "It's rigged."  
  
"Just the way you like it."  
  
The entanglement of your bodies after that conversation is matched only by the physical intensity you're passing back and forth. The energy is competitive and begins to snowball until, god help you, you want to fuck him again. But your dick can't soldier up for this one. When Justin realizes this, he turns your face back to him and says, "You've got an artist in this bed with you. Get creative." You cock your head to the side and give him a sly look; he gives you one right back, but his arm has moved and opened the top drawer of his nightstand. You prop yourself up, look inside, and shake your head in (mostly) disbelief, "Justin, you've been through a lot tonight."  
  
"It's our first night in our new bed," he counters, "I'll go get a towel." He practically springs out of bed like you haven't been having your way with him all night. (Youth just loves to rub things like that in your face.) He comes back and kneels beside you watching you slide the long glove on and prep everything you need to attempt to fist him. You normally do this with Justin on his back, and he wants that tonight, but not the same way. He straddles you, kisses you, and then leans back with one hand on your shoulder, "Open your legs; let me lean back right here,” he says. You prop his hips on the folded towel and lube your hand.  
  
Before you start, you warn him, "If this hurts too much, promise you'll stop me."  
  
"I will," he says, his eyes blinking slowly.  
  
His eyes close and he exhales through his nose when you penetrate him; he rests a hand on top of your knee and smiles at you. "Good?" you say.  
  
"Mmm, hmm. Can I?" he asks as his hand circles his hardening cock.  
  
"Sure."  
  
He licks his lips, closes his eyes, and arches his back into your hand. He's so beautiful like this, it almost takes your focus away from what you're doing. Your fingers inch their way inside him, and he starts confessing, "I...I wanted to be across your lap tonight."  
  
"I know you did. Soon enough."  
  
"Even if you can't spank me... _oh god, that feels...Christ_...I just want to be there."  
  
"I know; you like the attention. Should I keep going?"  
  
His eyes open, his lips fall apart, "Go really slow."  
  
"Okay." You listen to his body, to how your hand feels, to how hard he squeezes your knee, as you work with him, carefully getting him past your knuckles. As soon as you're successful, his whole body freezes.  
  
......  
  
"Justin?"  
  
And you feel telltale pressure on your hand.  
  
"Aw, fuck--" he blurts out, and then, "Shit...no--" And then he comes, making a little pool on his stomach. "Fuck," he sighs.  
  
You press your outside hand on his pelvis, holding him still as you work your hand out of him. "You okay?" you ask as you see your gloved fingers again.  
  
"Just hurry, okay?"  
  
You pull your glove inside out and off and toss it on the floor. He repositions himself so he can lay his head on his pillow, the towel staying for awhile. You slide down next to him in the covers and put your arm around him, taking care not to press on his stomach. He holds your hand, clutching it to his chest, as you talk to the back of his neck. "Where's your pain?" you ask, meaning on a scale of one to ten.  
  
Knowing exactly what you mean, he says, "Kind of everywhere, actually."  
  
"Okay, give it five or ten minutes before we break out the drugs."  
  
"Got anymore of that wine for my butt?" he asks.  
  
"Why? Did you find the receipt for that too?"  
  
"It's so expensive. I couldn't believe it," he admits.  
  
"Well, it ain't going to the corner store for a six pack. That's for sure."  
  
Your use of the southern vernacular must prompt his next question, "Have you ever fucked a cowboy?"  
  
You laugh, "Only during my gun slinging days."  
  
"You've been to more saloons than you can count," Justin points out.  
  
"I probably did and just don't remember," you tell him. "They all blend together when you get to be my age. Why are you?--" and then you stop mid-question because you know why he's asking, "You're marathoning another season of _Justified_ , aren't you?"  
  
"Why, I declare, I have no idea what you're talking about," he tries, "And so what? You like Westerns, too."  
  
"That is not a Western, Sunshine, and you damn well know it."  
  
"He's so hot, the star of that show."  
  
"You just want me to fuck you in a cowboy hat, Justin."  
  
"We play doctor, why can't we play cowboy? You took a rope class; you could lasso me."  
  
“And wear my boots and walk like I have a corn cob in my ass,” you add.  
  
"We have stables, Brian. There’s a scene here just waiting to happen.”  
  
"Your fantasies are really out in the open tonight. Usually, it’s like pulling teeth to get anything out of you.”  
  
He clasp his hands on yours, “Yes, we could play dentist.”  
  
“Only if my dick takes the place of a drill.”  
  
“It did tonight….,” he says.  
  
“You liked that, huh?” you ask.  
  
“The only thing I didn’t like about tonight was when you said we were cancelling;” he turns around to face you, “But I liked the way you handled it.”  
  
“Handled _you_ you mean?”  
  
That energy that had died down a little starts to rev back up between you.You see it start in his eyes; he passes it to you in a kiss that he ends up stopping, pushing his hand against your chest, “I need your help. I think I’m-- Our new bed--”  
  
“It’s okay; I’ll take care of it. You relaxed, that’s all.”  
  
“I hate this part,” he tells the ceiling as you clean him up.  
  
“Well, what goes in must come--” you remind him, but he cuts you of ,“I’m just gonna lay here and picture you with a corn cob up your ass,” he muses.  
  
“He’s not even a cowboy, anyway. He’s a U.S. Marshall.”  
  
He’s triumphant, “See! You watch it, too!”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
“You wanna watch it now?” you ask when you’re done taking care of him.  
  
“Sure,” he says like it was all your idea or something, “But I usually watch it with a glass of wine….”  
  
 _More like a bottle._ “I reckon I can get down to the wine cellar and grab you one.”  
  
“Well, you’re very kind, sir. If I didn’t know better--”  
  
“You don’t, so hush.”  
  
He laughs and grabs the remote. When you get back upstairs with the bottle, he’s already snuggled up in the covers and captivated by the opening credits. First night in your new bed, and apparently, it’s a threesome.

(END OF MAINTENANCE. I'll start posting Negotiations soon. 7/1/20)


	9. Negotiations 1-3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After mulling the next step in the series Maintenance, I decided to conclude it and start a new writing experiment, a sequel, called Negotiations. Again, I make no promises about the result. I want to toy with short chapters (like Maintenance) and take the story a bit down the rabbit hole -- perhaps even outside my own comfort zone. Negotiations is not complete. It began 11/8/14 and has 37 chapters as of 7/5/20. I have no clue how or if it will end. I'm just letting it flow through me and onto the page. The timeline picks up at the end of Maintenance 53. We begin back in 2nd person.
> 
> As this is ongoing, your comments and feedback is double appreciated. Writing about characters from a show ending on 2005 can be a lonely endeavor at times. It's nice to know & feel who's still out there and reading along. :)
> 
> #1-Originally published 11/8/14  
> #2-Originally published 11/29/14  
> #3-Originally published 12/30/14

**NEGOTIATIONS 1**

**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
The call came to through your office line around two thirty on a gray Wednesday in early February. It was Dave from Release with obvious stress in his voice. You assumed that he was calling because the live feed you’d help them set up and market straight from their website wasn’t monetizing as quickly as they’d hoped, but when you inquired, that idea was met with resistance. _“No, no, Brian,”_ Dave said, _“I’m not calling about the website or anything.”_  
  
“Well, then, what can I do for you?”  
  
_“Well...I have a situation here...with your partner...slave, I mean.”_  
  
“Come again?” You found this odd.  
  
Dave sighed into the phone, _“Justin is at our front desk asking to dissolve his slave contract...immediately.”_  
  
The reality of what Dave was saying took a minute to traverse through your brain and make sense to you, and after pressing your thumb and finger against the bridge of your nose in quiet frustration, you advised him, “Then go ahead and let him.”  
  
_“It’s just that… I mean, of course, we will, but this isn’t how we do things. The two of you entered into this contract together and technically, the way our situation works here, you would dissolve it together. I guess, I’m saying that we’re not in the business of letting slaves call the shots; there’s a respect issue at stake here.”_  
  
The idea that this was happening without your knowledge miffed you on a level you don’t entertain while at work, but you knew there was only one way to handle the immediate problem, “Honestly, if he wants to dissolve it, please let him, and if there’s a fee to do so, make sure he pays it.”  
  
_“Oh, there’s no fee. We don’t have this happen enough to have a fee,”_ Dave said with laughter in his voice. _“I don’t mean to imply that this is funny. Sorry about that.”_  
  
“Well, you called more or less to get my permission, so, please, make sure there’s a hefty fee, and if for some reason he won’t pay it, then send him a bill.”  
  
Dave’s words were hesitant, _“What kind of fee...would you like?”_  
  
“At least a thousand dollars.”  
  
_“Um, okay. There’s a thousand dollar fee to break a slave contract here.”_  
  
“Sounds good. Thanks for the call, and have a good day.” You hung up on the phone, pressed your lips together and shook your head in a bit of amazement. A few minutes later you got a one line text from Dave: _‘He paid it.’_

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 2**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
**  
You were hard on the ride home from your impromptu errand; you unzipped your fly and played around in your underwear just to enjoy the pressure building in your dick. The house felt cold and empty, so you set about warming it up. With cookbooks strewn on the kitchen countertops, you dug ingredients out of the cupboards and refrigerator and began to cook that night's dinner--a pot roast. Just gathering and measuring and stirring, it took your mind off what you'd done.  
  
Dinner was ready at five thirty on the dot and waiting for him. Brian walked through the door an hour later with no acknowledgement or apology that he was late. You began to remove the now re-warmed dish from the oven as you asked him, "Ready for dinner?"  
  
"I already ate," he replied with no eye contact.  
  
"Oh, I was waiting for you so we could eat together," you offered like some Stepford wife.  
  
"You shouldn't be worried about dinner," Brian said matter-of-factly as he was hanging his coat and scarf on the hooks in the hallway, "You should be downstairs waiting for me." You stood still in oven mitts; the pot roast in your hands as he disappeared upstairs. Slowly, you turned and put it back in the oven, cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, and then, with a deep exhale, opened the door to the basement and made your way down to the dungeon.  
  
Because the door creaks, Brian heard you and called down to you, "No phone. Leave it in the kitchen." You took your iphone out of your pocket and sat it on the island.  
  
......  
  
It had been six weeks since...well...since you got what you wanted. Six weeks of waiting for the holidays to be over with, for visitors to leave, for Kinnetik to close out the last fiscal year and kick start the new year’s campaigns. By your measure, you’d been patient, and to be fair, the rest of your sex life was perfectly fine. But you were pretty sure you’d made it clear that you were waiting for something else.  
  
Anything, really. A look, a whisper, a glance…even an admission that Brian knew you were being patient, that you knew that whatever you’d get would’ve been worth waiting for. You’d tired of wishing and waiting.  
  
......  
  
From the basement, it's impossible to hear footsteps coming from anywhere but the basement stairs. You turned on the light in the dungeon and sat on the bed cross-legged to wait. Without your phone, you had no clock at your disposal.  
  
After assuming that five minutes had passed, you began to second guess your clothed presentation. You turned on the fireplace and got undressed, feeling like Brian was probably watching you as you peeled off each piece. Your heart was racing as you neatly folded your clothes and placed them on a table. You felt like you should be kneeling but weren't sure exactly where that should be. Eventually, you decided to kneel by the bed and to pass time by staring at the implements hanging on the far wall--a crop, a whip and a wide selection of paddles, wooden and leather.  
  
After assuming that ten minutes had passed, your knees began to ache from the hard floor, so you moved to the rug in front of the fireplace. _He'll like this,_ you thought, _My skin will be on fire._ You were almost hard, but you didn’t allow yourself the luxury of self-fondling.  
  
After what felt like a half an hour had to have passed, you got up and got dressed again, trying to press an unsettledness out of your pores as you slid each foot back into your jeans. You laid on the bed, your hands folded on top of your stomach. Soon, you turned on your side and let your body curl into a ball.  
  
And still you heard nothing.  
  
......  
  
Your phone read _7:52 pm_ when you made it back up to the kitchen. You served dinner to yourself; the meat no longer juicy. You portioned out lunch for Brian the following day and put the leftovers away. At eight twenty pm, you made your way up your staircase to your bedroom.  
  
Not a single light was on upstairs.  
  
You found Brian in his bed, asleep on his side; his body turned toward the window. You undressed down to your underwear and a t-shirt and slid into the sheets, hugging your side of the bed like an anchor.  
  
You wanted to roll over and touch him, follow the expanse of his back with your palms, kiss his shoulder blades, murmur about how he belonged on top of you...inside you...but you didn't. In silence, you took a sleeping pill and played a puzzle game on your phone. As the drowsiness crowded your brain, you had a thought. Using the light from your phone, you carefully and slowly opened your nightstand drawer and located the box holding your diamond studded collar. You untied the ribbon around it and opened the lid wanting to touch it, to hold it, to worry your fingers around each of the diamonds as you drifted off to sleep.  
  
But the box was empty.  
  
Your collar was gone.

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 3**

**JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
The following morning you awoke in a warm, dark fog, feeling Brian's hand in your underwear. He was almost purring as he pulled them down to your knees and then pulled your body back against his. " _Sleepy boy,_ he whispered, his breath hot on the back of your neck. You glanced at your phone; it was barely six a.m. You moaned and stretched signaling your wakefulness, and then returned to the position he'd put you in. He palmed your ass, kneaded it, and then whispered again as he slipped a finger inside you, " _This bottom of yours needs to be fucked, doesn't it?_ "  
  
"God, yes," you said quietly.  
  
His body shuffled against yours, and then you felt him, hard and slick, pushing to get inside you. You reached back to hold onto his neck, your back arching as he filled you. "And yet, it shouldn't even be in this bed right now," Brian warned you, his attitude darkening quicker than a summer afternoon storm.  
  
"You _left_ me downstairs last night," you complained, the combative tone in your voice at odds with the symbiosis of your bodies. Brian practically mauled your hip, pushing himself deep inside you as he replied, "As if that's even remotely your biggest problem right now."  
  
Your body belied the tone of the conversation again as you turned your face back to nuzzle against his, to kiss him, to tell him, "I'm gonna come...please..." which always means _drive this one home, Brian._  
  
He forced you on your stomach for the remainder of the deed and continued his verbal assault, "You're going to lay here with an ass full of cum until I leave for work." His body began to move roughly against yours, and you had to dig your fingertips into the mattress and concentrate on waiting for him...but it was for naught; you couldn't control yourself. You said nothing as you soaked the sheets. But Brian knew, he felt it; he heard it in your breathing. He wiped his hand underneath you and then roughed up your hair with the stickiness, and when you started to apologize, he stuffed four fingers in your mouth and told you to, "Shut up."  
  
You gagged and yanked his hand out by the wrist; your body clenched as he pulled out and left you lying there like some trick from the old days. You listened to his morning routine; you memorized it long ago. A seven minute shower, teeth brushing, shaving, aftershave, deodorant, hair drying, towel hung back on the rack. He came out into your bedroom, chose underwear and socks and then walked into the closet, closing the door before flicking on the light to see if the socks he chose were the right color. When he finally emerged from the closet, his shirt was on but his tie was still hanging loose around his neck. He was tucked in, but his pants were still open. He always does those finishing touches in front of the mirror in your still gray-lit bedroom. You like to watch him preen.  
  
He came to your side of the bed that morning but wouldn't sit down until you assured him he wasn't aiming for a wet spot. In the dim light, he smiled at you, brushed your cheek with the back of his hand, and then ran his hand over the sheets, his finger tracing your crack. "Still full?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, I think so."  
  
"Christ, sometimes I just want to live in your ass. You need to be at my office at two thirty."  
  
“Why?” you asked, your brow wrinkling.  
  
Brian rolled his eyes in a comical fashion as if merely having to tolerate your stupid questions was all he could take, “Presumably because I said so.”  
  
“You need my help with something?” you asked.  
  
Brian smiled, “Sure, let’s go with that.” He leaned down and kissed you; it was quick but meaningful, and then he stopped as he started to get up, his hand on the back of your head, "I want you shaved, enema, pedicure....everything when you get there."  
  
"Things I don't like to do alone," you whined.  
  
"And your hair is too dark for me."  
  
"It's full of cum, Brian."  
  
He laughed, "It's too dark. I'm married to a beautiful blond boy, and I'd like to see him now and again."  
  
You wondered if that's why it's been so long...six weeks. You let yourself go?  
  
"Is it too long?" you asked.  
  
"No, the length is perfect."  
  
"I don't know if I can get an appointment today."  
  
"That's your problem; not mine," he pointed out. He was already in his CEO persona for the day.  
  
"I have another problem," you offered.  
  
Brian's eyebrow was raised in response, "What, pray tell, could that be?"  
  
"My very expensive diamond collar has been stolen."  
  
Brian looked a bit shocked and opened your nightstand drawer, peering inside, "Box is still there--pretty bow and all."  
  
"It's gone. Perhaps the thief is an expert at wrapping," you mused.  
  
"He's probably a fag, huh?"  
  
You whispered, " _I want it back. It means almost as much to me as my wedding ring._ "  
  
Brian gave you a very conciliatory smile, "Well, then, you better file a report."  
  
He was a master at slowly frustrating you; you rolled your eyes, "Fuck it, it's insured."  
  
Brian grinned and leaned down again, his lips inches from yours, "Oh, you are so very right. And the deductible alone...well, darling...paying it is going to be a bitch."


	10. Negotiations 4-7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The experiment continues...  
> #4-Originally published 1/15/15  
> #5-Originally published 2/24/15  
> #6-Originally published 3/12/15  
> #6.1--Originally published 3/14/15  
> #7-Originally published 4/15/15

**NEGOTIATIONS 4**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
**  
You arrived at Brian's office about seven minutes early. He was with a client so you waited in the lobby. When he came out to do his shake-n-break at the end of a productive meeting, he saw you and smiled. Your hair was hopefully as light as he wanted; your jeans were tight...his favorite pair of late. He ushered you into his office, closing the door behind him, and then took you in his arms and kissed you...kindly. "You took care of everything?" he asked; his eyes surveying your body...down to your feet and up again.  
  
"Yes. My hair; it's okay?"  
  
He ran his fingers through it, "Yes, it's perfect. You were able to get in then?"  
  
"A handful of cash always works," you replied.  
  
"Have you eaten?" he asked, offering you the lunch he hadn't finished, some sort of pasta dish with chicken.  
  
"I snacked as I got ready, so I'm okay."  
  
"Good, I have a three o'clock. Let's get started."  
  
You agreed, "Okay," as if you knew what you were agreeing to while Brian took your hand and led you to the door of his private bathroom. "Get undressed from the waist down and wait for me," he instructed. His CEO persona had come back around again.  
  
Inside the bathroom, you began to feel the strangeness you'd been ignoring all day as you got ready for whatever this was. You kicked off your shoes and got undressed, leaving only your button down shirt and sweater on, the tail of the ensemble partially covering you. _This is an inspection,_ you thought, _That's why I had to get everything ready._  
  
When Brian entered the bathroom, you were standing there, feeling as if the smile on your face was likely awkward. He ignored it and took your forearm, pulling you over to the bathroom counter and positioned you as he pleased; he bent you forward pressing your face on the formica so it was looking away from him. He fussed with the tail on your shirt, folding it up into your sweater, leaving your ass completely exposed. His foot knocked your legs apart, and then you heard the unmistakable sound of his belt being _whooshed_ out of his belt loops.  
  
This wasn't an inspection. This was a show of force spiked with a shot of humiliation.  
  
The sound of the whipping echoed in the bathroom, bouncing off the walls the way the pain bounced beneath your skin. You flinched and let a hiss escape between your clenched teeth; your foot flying up like a reflex. You were punished for that indiscretion as well, a stinging electric shock to the bottom of both feet. This pain was new; the sound was new--the _zap_ freaking you out as much as the pain that shot straight up your legs. You couldn't even see how he'd done it positioned as you were. These actions weren't from a Brian you remembered or desired; there was no intimate touch, no attempt at even a perfunctory warm up of any sort. You began to worry that the sound was traveling freely through the vents at the agency. Truth be told, you began to worry about a lot of things.  
  
He picked you up off the counter by the back of your hair, ignoring the reddening you were fighting in your eyes. "You're hard, aren't you?" he asked, his eyes never moving from your face.  
  
You kept your eyes on his as you replied, "Half way."  
  
"Were you hard before we started or did it happen during the act?"  
  
"Both?" you replied, not really sure anymore. Brian gave you a distrustful look, as again, he moved you and instructed as he sat on the toilet lid, "Get down on your knees; you're going to jerk off into this trash can." You knelt in front of him and began to stroke yourself while he fiddled on his phone, ignoring you. When you succeeded, you watched as your semen hit the side of the bag in the stainless steel can and slid down the plastic looking as pathetic as the orgasm felt. Brian put his phone down and moved the trash can back next to the toilet. He stood up for a brief second, turned, and got a small square box down off of a shelf. "You need to listen to me very carefully. I'm only going to say this once. Are you listening?"  
  
"Yes," you said although it was hard to get past his hostile tone to hear his actual words.  
  
"Last night was the beginning of a punishment that will last until further notice. That orgasm you just had will be the last one you have until your punishment is over. I am very concerned that this entire endeavor is about ninety percent game to you. I'm disappointed with both your obsession around living in subspace, and your inability or unwillingness to focus on anything but your own pleasure."  
  
"I don't think that's true, Brian." Was it?  
  
"Your priorities are hopelessly out of whack. By the end of tonight, I predict they'll be back on the right track." He indicated that you should hold your shirt up as he removed a minimalistic chastity device that had something weird hanging off the front of it. "What is that?" you asked as he touched you, surveyed the shaving you'd done, and began to slide the metal ring down your cock to encircle it and your balls. "It's a urethal pin," Brian said. "Makes erections completely impossible." You felt a little nauseous as he inserted the metal tip into your cock; it was cold and unforgiving. "There's an ass hook as well that you'll insert while I watch when you get home. I don't think you can drive comfortably or safely with it in."  
  
He handed you the steel ball and rod, "I have specific instructions for you in this envelope." You took the envelope from him, and he continued, "And you're to read them when you get home and are downstairs in the dungeon. Text me when you get there, and I will text back to ensure that I've got you on camera. You should eat before you go down there because you won't eat again until late tonight. You can keep a bottle of water with you in the dungeon." You folded the envelope and stuffed it in the pocket of your jeans. He sat quietly watching you get dressed, and when you finally got your jeans to zip around the unyielding device, he pulled you down to sit on his lap--uncomfortable as it was. He sighed before he spoke, "The only way you stop this course of action is to use your safe word. No other protestations matter to me. Do you understand that?"  
  
You shifted on his leg trying to find a place that didn't press the metal against you uncomfortably, "You're really mad at me."  
  
"I love you, Justin, but you made a choice and choices have consequences."  
  
"I love you, too," you said like telling him that was going to change the course of events.  
  
Brian sighed, "I know that. I know you do." His frankness, his lack of humor gave you a creepy feeling. He saw the expression on your face and rolled his hand down the back of your hair, petting you like you were some sort of cherished figurine. You held his other hand. "We have about five minutes," Brian said quietly.  
  
"Let me suck you," you murmured into his neck trying to summon the affection you needed. "You're hard; I can tell." (You took his erection as a positive sign.)  
  
"You don't have permission," he said.  
  
"You can give it to me," you prodded.  
  
"I'm not going to," he said matter-of-factly. "You aren't allowed that kind of access to me without earning it."  
  
You reacted without thinking and tried to kiss him on the mouth, but he held you back, his fingers cupped around your chin as he replied, "That, either. You've lost the right to initiate intimate contact with me."  
  
You gave him an unmistakable 'taken aback' look and got off his lap headed right to the bathroom door. You were leaving. You were done with this. _Fuck this._  
  
Brian stood up quickly and jerked you back, "You're not excused."  
  
"I'm not anything anymore," you said.  
  
Brian shrugged, "Self pity is revolting to me, Justin. We'll see how you do tonight. I'll see you when I get home." Your mind felt like it was trapped in a rubber room and pinging constantly off four walls: hurt, anger, humiliation, and, yet, desire.  
  
That particular ride home was much different that the one the day before; it was full of dread. Your tendency, you realized, to decide what Brian must be thinking or feeling despite the direct information he gives you had served you poorly. The argument and your actions six weeks prior on New Year's Eve had been mistake.

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 5**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
**Walking up the stairs in your tight jeans with your dick strangled by the device was intolerable. You ended up leaving your jeans on the floor in the foyer and taking the stairs to your bedroom very carefully. You changed into your dungeon clothes hoping that you wouldn't eventually read Brian's instructions and realize you'd jumped the gun a bit. You spent about half an hour in the kitchen making and eating a decent late lunch/early dinner as instructed. When you finally showed your face in the dungeon, you got an immediate text from Brian, ' _Took you long enough._ ' You held the envelope up to the camera, a posed question, and Brian texted back, ' _Ass hook first._ '  
  
You sighed and made your way over to the bed. You found lube, took your pants off, and laid on your back on the bed making sure he had a good shot to watch. You worked slowly, closing your eyes and pressing the steel ball against your anus. It didn't work. You tried imagining Brian watching you, maybe touching himself while you did this, and that didn't work either. You flipped and got on all fours and tried to push it in that way and finally, you gave up. 'This is a no go,' you texted him. '2 tight with this thing on.'  
  
The three dots that indicated Brian was texting back just continued to scroll on your phone. You were readying yourself for an ultimatum, but instead you got, ' _Okay, I'll go with plan b. Read the instructions._ '  
  
You found them odd and unexpected. You were to walk over to the table and get the digital voice recorder lying there for you. You took it back to your bed, set your phone's timer for five minutes, and then began to complete the task. When you were done, Brian texted you that he was leaving the office and would be home in about half an hour. He advised you that in twenty minutes, you needed to undress completely and wait for him on your knees in the corner.  
  
Knowing that he probably wasn't watching you anymore, you set your alarm for fifteen minutes, closed your eyes, and thought about what he might be about to do to you. Your provocation had worked--maybe too well--and now you had to decide if you were willing to accept the result. The not knowing excited you, knowing that he was driving home right then excited you. The thought that he was probably fantasizing in the car excited and scared you at the same time because the details in this plan of his alluded you.  
  
You heard Brian come in; you'd positioned yourself in the corner a couple minutes prior. You stared at your knees and jumped a little when the door knob turned. He hadn't even gone into the house; he'd come straight through the garage.  
  
His presence in the room raised the temperature a bit or so it seemed. He touched the top of your head and mussed your hair before advising you to, "Stand up." You stood and in a few moments there was a short, fat glass in front of your face with amber liquid swishing back and forth. "Drink it," Brian advised you, "You're going to need it." Your fingers touched his briefly as you took the glass and drank the contents; your mind wanted to snip and replay that moment when your skin touched his because you had a feeling you weren't going to have much more of that in your near future. "Can I have more?" you asked him, and Brian refused, citing, "You're going to be on your feet for awhile."  
  
After that point, each moment with him seemed to happen and then split off into its own bubble floating around your skull...  
  
He was behind you, rubbing your sides with his hands, kissing the back of your neck, "It's probably fortuitous that the ass hook is too awkward; plan b is better."  
  
"What's plan b?"  
  
"Don't rush me," he admonished you.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"This punishment is a good thing for you; you need it," he brushed the ends of your hair with his fingertips, "Although I take some pleasure in this, there are plenty of things I’d rather be doing right now than punishing you. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"I don't want you to say that to me unless you mean it," Brian cautioned.  
  
You wanted to reach back and grab his hands and wrap them around you, but you sensed it was a bad idea. "I do mean it," you said instead hoping he could hear that same sentiment in your answer.  
  
"Well, let's hope so."  
  
......  
  
You weren't at all prepared for the leather hood Brian pulled over your head with no warning; it smelled strong, brand new; there was a zipper that ran from the crown of your head down the back of your skull to your neck; it snagged a piece of your hair, yanking it out on the way down. There were tiny holes punched by each ear and by your nose. The zipper that hid your mouth was closed as were the flaps over your eyes. Brian's fingertips traced the point where the hood intersected with your shoulders; you had to regulate your breathing quickly before the inside of the hood became a steam room. Brian's mouth was right by your ear, "This is to make you understand what you are to me, what you're good for. That until you recalibrate your thinking, you will be treated like what you are--an object, a faceless tool for my pleasure."  
  
You didn't believe a word of what he said; you didn't even believe he believed it, but, nonetheless, your heartbeat began to feel like impending thunder in your head. Next, he was touching your hand with his, and you tried to will your fingers to hold onto him, but he was on a mission; moments later there were leather mitts on your hands.  
  
"Open your legs about two feet for me," Brian said. You did as he requested and expected to be plugged with something unpleasant or painful, but instead Brian knelt down between your legs and fiddled with your device; he planted a kiss at the base of your ass, and then you felt a sick tug on your balls.  
  
"What?--" was all you said; your forehead pressed against your mitts on the painted cinder blocks, and then you felt another tug on the other side.  
  
"Weights," Brian said, "Plan b."  
  
"Oh god." They were hanging from the ring around your balls making it much more uncomfortable than it already was.  
  
"Keep your hands flat on the wall at all times, step back a little, and present yourself to me."  
  
You adjusted your position carefully, stepping backward until you had enough room to arch your back and tilt your ass the way he wanted it; the way he always wants it. You ignored the fact that you wanted to give him this as you waited for his tacit approval, staring at the black leather in front of your eyes; your eyelashes brushing it as you blinked. And then you heard Brian clicking things. The fruits of your earlier task, your five minutes on the voice recorder began to echo in the room: " _Brian's pleasure is the only thing that matters to me. His pleasure always comes first."_ Brian adjusted the volume down and then up again, and then the flogging began to the tune of your own voice.  
  
It was slow and soothing at first, but as Brian increased the force behind it, the weights on your balls began to move with every swat. You found yourself stiffening your body trying to halt the chance of movement, but Brian chastised you, his hand resting on your hip, "Don't waste your energy up front. You don't know what's coming."  
  
Your recorded voice continued to echo in the room, " _I'm grateful Brian takes the time to punish me. It's for my own good._ "  
  
The flogger changed at least twice, the stinging tails making you flinch, but the crop came next, and your previous belief that it was the easiest to endure quickly changed when you felt it between your thighs and then slapping your weights around. Saliva pooled in your mouth and you worried you might vomit. Sometimes the pain subsided because Brian's hand was between your legs and holding the weights still, his chest pressed against your back, his forehead heavy between your shoulder blades.  
  
" _Brian's pleasure is the only thing that matters to me._ "  
  
Brian was palming your ass with his hand, "God, I want to put your across my lap."  
  
"Do it...please," you said, thinking that being there would be the most exquisite place to be, your skin rubbing against his, his hands traveling all over your body delivering the pleasure-pain cocktail you craved.  
  
He grunted as if he was in just as much agony as you were, "You have to earn that."  
  
" _I'm grateful Brian takes the time to punish me._ "  
  
"And I hear you saying these things, but you don't convince me at all, and I so wanted to be convinced," Brian bemoaned.  
  
The brick wall was more supportive to you at that moment than the man you married. You offered, "I will prove it to you. I promise."  
  
“Oh, you’re right about that,” Brian said with a knowing laugh, and then you felt the cool wood of a paddle skate down your crack. "That thing you were doing before, that bracing thing; now would be a good time to do that."  
  
" _It's for my own good._ "  
  
The crack of the wooden paddle against your skin was so loud, even through the hood. You couldn't hold yourself still; Brian was too strong, too committed to this course of action. You began to pant in between swats in an attempt to negotiate with the pain. The voice recorder clicked off. You became acutely aware of exactly where Brian was because he has a habit of positioning your skin before he paddles you. You'd feel his hand circle an area, stop, stretch the skin, and then you'd crush your eyes closed as he hit you. While the floggers had traveled your entire body, the paddle was focused on your ass and the back of your legs. You began to cry a little but you refused to show it; instead of sniffling, you just let everything run down your hidden face. But, eventually, your shallow breathing gave you away. Brian could tell; he'd moved in closer to you, his hand now on your stomach; his mouth by your ear as he asked, "Do we need to call this off?"  
  
You sniffed despite trying not to, "No, sir."  
  
He'd tucked the paddle somewhere because next both hands were on you, one rubbing your stomach, and the other rubbing your ass--which felt really, really good. "I can't see your face, Justin, so you need to be very honest with me."  
  
"I'm okay."  
  
"Hmm," Brian replied, as if your answer was naturally suspect. His hand ran up your chest and began to toy with your nipple. He twisted and pinched it hard, and when you cried out, the paddle landed on your ass like it was on a mission to beat you to the brick wall. "Again," Brian said, his fingers roaming to your other nipple, "And this time, you’re going to count to five for me when I tell you to.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
His fingers toyed and twisted that nipple until the over-attention became annoying, and then he pinched it very hard and said, “Go,” in your ear.  
  
“One…?” you said.  
  
Brian huffed a little and released the pressure, “Okay, you require more instruction on counting. You’re going to count to five. On five, you’ll get the paddle.”  
  
“Okay,” you agreed without knowing why.  
  
“Go,” Brian said resuming the pinch.  
  
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” you tried.  
  
Brian sighed and released the pressure again, “Seriously? You can’t do this?”  
  
He started to stress you out, sweat ran down your temple inside the hood. “What am I doing wrong?”  
  
“When I say, ‘Go,’ you’re going to count to five. To make this doable for you, to help you pace it out, after each number, you need to say, ‘I belong to you.’ Got it?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The pinch resumed, “Go.”  
  
“One. I belong to you. Two. I belong to you. Three. I belong to you. Four. I belong to you. Five--... _fuck!._ ” The paddle hit the side of your ass.  
  
“Much better,” Brian praised sounding relieved.  
  
His fingers toyed and twisted your nipples a few more times, each time the countdown brought the paddle down in a different place. In a way it helped; you could concentrate on the words and let them float around in your head while you disassociated yourself from the pain. It was there, in that space, that you realized Brian was pushing to get inside you. You were confused and disoriented because you weren't supposed to have this. but it didn't take long to realize that it wasn't for you anyway. It was the most painful fuck you'd ever had; the weights swinging back and both with every thrust, banging into the steel device. You positioned your mitts in front of your face so you wouldn’t hit the wall. You begged him to stop.  
  
(But you didn't mean it.  
  
Not one little bit.)  
  
**BRIAN'S POV**  
  
Red.  
  
Everything red.  
  
Justin’s skin, the air in the room, every thrust, the sounds he was making as you fucked him. Red pain. Red pleasure. Red, your resolve, your love for him. Fire in your veins.  
  
Red, your reassurances, "Good boys get fucked like this when they misbehave, don't they?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Neon red, his submission.  
  
A battle you fought and won.  
  
Your orgasm, red lava, punctuated his pain. Your skin adhered to his against the wall as you tried to absorb some of his pain for a few moments. Your breath, a salve. “I’m proud of you,” you whispered to his collarbone, “And I’m impressed. You were very obedient.” You felt his body release a little so you held him a little tighter; he began to breathe more heavily, so you cautioned him, “We’re not finished. You need to hang on a little longer.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
You knew the moment you pulled out that his body would collapse, and it did. You organized it for him, helping him back down on his knees. "Please," he said, "I need to clean up."  
  
"That's what the floor is for," you told him, "Keep your knees and feet apart."  
  
Seconds passed, and a puddle began to form underneath him.

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 6  
**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
**You were almost in a trance when you felt Brian's hands on your shoulders; in a hushed voice, he said, "Get up," and then helped you to your feet. "Come here," he said taking your wrist and bringing you to what felt like the side of the bed. "Kneel again," he advised, helping you navigate in your dark world. Back on your knees (and this time on a rug), you could tell he was still dressed; fabric brushed your skin now and again. "Fucking that sore, red bottom of yours has been the best part of my day so far," he informed you.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Such manners," Brian wise-cracked, "Impressive, but we're not finished."  
  
"Okay. What do you need?"  
  
You could tell Brian was smiling when he answered you, "Christ, I had to put you through utter hell to hear that question come out of your mouth."  
  
"My fault," you said, and you meant it, "I'll do better."  
  
"I'm tempted to pull off that hood and see who's switched places with you."  
  
"It's me; I promise. What can I do?"  
  
You felt pressure on your mouth, and then the clicking of a zipper opening followed by a rush of air. You took a deep breath; a delicious, deep breath. You tasted the salt on Brian's fingertip as he put it in your mouth. He ran it over your teeth, your tongue and then painted your lips with the spit. "Want some water?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
He placed a straw on your lip and helped you drink, two maybe three sips before taking it away. You heard him swallowing next, giant gulps. When his hands touched you again, they were cold from the bottle; he held you still, his fingers wrapped around your upper arms. "I suppose it makes me a bit of sicko to get off on this," he admitted to you.  
  
"I don't know what you mean," you said because you didn't.  
  
He took a breath in before he spoke again, "I don't particularly care for slaves all hooded up and shit, but knowing that it's _you_ under this hood, knowing the raw beauty that this thing is hiding from me makes my dick feel like it could rule the world--"  
  
"It could," you interrupted.  
  
"Oh, now, don't start flattery at this point; we're way past that." You got a chillish tickle in your toes from his criticism. You instinctively lowered your head, and Brian, pointless as its position was, picked it right back up using his thumbs as kickstands for your chin as if you could look at him in your current situation. "You need to drink some more water," he said. The straw in the bottle, it stayed for as long as you needed it that time; you weren't being rationed or denied. "Where's your pain?" Brian asked when you indicated you'd had enough to drink.  
  
"Nowhere, yet. I don't feel anything."  
  
"You were heaving a little when I was fucking you. I could feel your stomach. Hell, my dick could feel it."  
  
"I just wasn't at all prepared for...CBT. I had no idea."  
  
"Caught you off guard, huh?" Brian asked.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Well, now you know how I felt after what you did this week."  
  
You sighed, facing the reality, "I know that I'm in serious trouble. I deserve to be." Brian finally let go of your chin and let you hang your head; you felt like you needed to stare at the floor even though you still couldn't see anything but blackness.  
  
"We need to figure out what's happening between us, Justin. We're a bit of an unconventional couple; I'll grant you that, but this shit is ridiculous."  
  
"I agree."  
  
"I know that this is about New Year's Eve."  
  
"Please remove my hood," you asked.  
  
"No. I need to know that you hear me, and this way, I'm sure," Brian replied.  
  
"I _will_ listen," you pleaded.  
  
"No, and the reason you're in the dungeon having this conversation with me...like this...is because you broke a rule. You're not allowed to ambush me like that. You're supposed to talk with me outside of this...situation."  
  
"I tried. We got nowhere, Brian."  
  
Brian sighed hard, and then you felt his hand on your shoulder. You lifted your hand up to touch his but then realized it was still in a mitt and let it drop. "I'm not even sure where to start with this fucking mess, but I'm going to try. I would prefer that you don't interrupt me."  
  
"Okay," you said, letting your head drop again. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to focus on only Brian's voice.  
  
"I shouldn't have taken you to Release on New Year's Eve, okay? That was a mistake on my part. I thought you understood that I wanted to go because their live feed launched that night, and I was amazed, flabberghasted, really, at the amount of traffic and subscriptions that were coming in. Working with them, they're not like other clients; I get to be a little freer, try out some wacky ideas. I asked you if you wanted to go in and watch the main event with me, and you said, 'Yes.' You said you wanted to stay off camera, and you wanted your number off your hand, so I took care of that for you. You didn't want to be approached by anyone, so I took care of that. You wanted to keep your clothes on, and I took care of that, too. I didn't think we'd stay until the ball dropped. It just kind of happened." He reached down and scratched his shin, his hand brushed your arm.  
  
_Focus._  
  
"When we got home, I was ready to have you across my lap again, Justin. I'd missed it, and having family around at Christmas made any type of real intimacy impossible." Brian stopped. You heard shuffling and then smelled a cigarette. His words began to come slower, cushioning themselves in little pillows of air as Brian released them, "You aren't the only one that floats when we engage like this, Justin. I can fly just like you, and that night, I was flying high until our signals got crossed, and it became apparent to me that you didn't want to be over my knee at all. And then you got up and _left me_ in our bedroom to sleep in your fucking studio."  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
Brian ignored your apology, "I crashed all alone, Justin. I came down like a lead balloon in some abandoned field."  
  
"May I speak?" you asked. You were starting to get a little freaked from being hooded so long. Hearing Brian emote and being unable to see his face or to touch him...this, you realized, was the real punishment.  
  
"I need a minute," Brian said, and you could feel him stand up and walk across the room. You heard him pour himself a drink. He spoke again, his voice farther away, "I accept my role in this crazy thing we've got going, and I know what you want. You want to be spoiled rotten and dominated; you want the wicked pleasure you get from being at my mercy...but I'm not going to do this anymore if my basic...emotion--...well being means nothing to you. I'll take that fucking hood off your head, throw it in a pile with everything else in this room and burn it to the fucking ground."  
  
You swallowed hard.  
  
You decided you had better start talking if you were going to salvage any of this. You felt so stupid having to explain yourself, to project credibility in your current predicament but you persevered anyway, "No. No, Brian. Our signals got crossed. I didn't want to cause another scene at Release that night so I hid my anger and disappointment, and then it sort of oozed out later at the wrong time. Sometimes when we do this stuff, it brings out a vulnerability in me that I can't always control. I lost control of it that night in the wrong way." You leaned forward and pressed your forehead into the side of the bed; you just needed to feel something around you that might actually give way.  
  
"And the stunt you pulled _this_ week? What the fuck was that?"  
  
You entire body sighed as you repositioned yourself on your ass, wrapped your arms around your knees and leaned against the mattress. "I felt like I couldn't get anywhere near you; I could never get close to talking about what went wrong."  
  
"Did it occur to you that I wasn't _ready_ to talk about it? That I don't bounce back real well from that kind of betrayal, or frankly, _embarrassment_ , Justin?"  
  
“Yes...but why were you embarrassed? It was just the two of us when it happened.”  
  
Brian responded like that was a really stupid question, "Why did you even get across my lap that night? You think I want to spank you if you don't want it? What kind of a person do you think I am?"  
  
Sometimes you forget that Brian’s reputation as a sexual deity never leaves him alone, even when it’s just the two of you navigating your sexual relationship. “I did not mean to embarrass you. I would never do that. I was struggling that night because I was mad at myself for being so mad at you.”  
  
“And then you went to Release yesterday to embarrass me again.”  
  
"No, no. I swear that was not my intention; I got frustrated and pulled my internal fire alarm," you admitted.  
  
"And paid a pretty penny to do it, too."  
  
"I knew they called you. Those guys might be 'Doms of the Universe' or something, but they cannot lie for shit."  
  
Brian laughed, and you exhaled a little. You both got quiet in your respective spaces, and you could tell that Brian was having several drinks; the routine of pour-swallow-tap as the glass kept hitting the table. If you didn't stop him, he'd be smashed soon.  
  
You had to think of something...

~♥~

 **NEGOTIATIONS 6**.1 **-NEW YEAR'S EVE DELETED SCENE**

 ** **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
**You were on your knees in a corner of the dungeon tracing the gray painted bricks with your finger as you waited for Brian to come home. The nervous excitement you used to get high on on nights like this was just plain nerves that night. Brian's instructions couldn't be completed exactly right, and that had you even more worried.  
  
What a mess.  
  
You thought about New Year's Eve as you knelt, about how disconnected you'd felt from Brian at Release that night while at the very same time, he thought he was connecting with you. You thought about the car ride home during which you'd been obviously too silent, and he'd been very handsy. It made you mad, his overtures. You thought they were prompted by someone or something other than you. Why didn't you just say something? Explain yourself?  
  
You wanted to punish him.  
  
Instead of saying something before the spanking even started that night, you'd let your body do the talking: you slumped instead of positioning yourself for him, you closed your eyes when he began to spank you, you didn't moan or reward him for his efforts in anyway. Brian mistook your apathy for some kind of resistance that he likes and dialed up his dominance. He started to talk dirty to you, to get rough, and you rolled your eyes and bit off a hangnail. Finally, in visible frustration, he waved his hand in front of your face, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
_Oh gee, that's nice,_ you thought. "Nothing. I'm tired, okay?"  
  
"Okay," he said. He didn't believe you.  
  
He moved you off his lap and slid down under the covers. You rolled to the far side of the bed. A few minutes past and then you felt his fingertips on your scalp, rubbing gently. "If you don't want to do this tonight, that's okay, Justin. Just tell me."  
  
"I don't want to do this."  
  
"Okay...that's fine. I just thought...I mean a week ago on Christmas night when Gus was still here, you pretended to trip and fall across my lap while you were naked, so I just figured you were tired of waiting."  
  
"Great, make jokes, Brian."  
  
"I'm not making a fucking joke. You did that!"  
  
"Whatever. You have no empathy for me when you get so psychotically busy with work and family obligations. You just expect me to deal with it and deal with it and deal with it."  
  
"Why did you even get across my lap? You think I want to spank you if you don't want it? What kind of person do you think I am?"  
  
"The kind that was perfectly happy watching fifty-some guys going at it all night at some dumb party."  
  
Brian rolled away again, flopping on his back and huffing in a rather disgusted way, a quick, low, deep laugh coming from somewhere inside him, "Really? Fuck you. That's not what I was there for."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Justin, sometimes you act like a spoiled fucking brat, and I don't get it."  
  
"Well, then I guess that's who you married--some fucking brat who wants to be with his husband on New Year's Eve, just _him_ for once. How dare he?"  
  
"Yeah, lucky me."  
  
You flew out of your bed at that, the cold air colliding with your skin as you dragged your pillow and a blanket down the hall to your studio and slammed the door.

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 7**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
**There have always been moments between you and Brian that transcend the here and now, the there and then, and that was the first time you'd ever felt one of them while having so few options in your ability to respond, but you didn't care about that. You cared that you felt it, and you cared that he did, too, and fuck the leather hood on your head and the mitts on your hands and your dick in a stainless steel cage. You're an artist who's conquered plenty of obstacles to your freedom of expression. What's one more? And perhaps you're more like Brian than you ever admit to yourself; you, too, love a challenge. You cleared your throat and spoke, the truth of every single word made your physical obstacles feel less obstructing, "Brian, you're right. I needed this punishment. Thank you."  
  
Brian snorted a weird laugh, "You're welcome."  
  
"I need you to stop drinking, though, or I'm going to use my safe word."  
  
It didn't seem to phase him, this admission. He replied, "Why do you care if I'm drinking?"  
  
"Because...as wrong as it was for me to do everything I did, it's wrong for you to get smashed while my dick is literally locked up. It's not safe. I don't even know where the key is."  
  
"There are two," Brian admitted, a comical and smart-ass tone to his voice like he was a game show host or something, "One is in my pocket and one is the nightstand drawer about two feet from your head."  
  
"Okay, and I would find this key how?" You held up your mitted hands.  
  
"Okay, that's valid. I'm stopping."  
  
You smiled inside your hood; you were getting somewhere.  
  
......  
  
You smiled again when you heard him get up, heard his footsteps coming back to you, every one deliberate. He gifted you with a quiet apology, one you could barely hear, and somehow you were off the floor and on your back on the bed; Brian's fingers fiddling with the chastity device, and then it released; the parts of it clanging as they fell away. Brian's hand was wrapped around your cock when the pin can out, a relief and an uncomfortable sensation all at once.  
  
"Is it atrophied?" you asked him.  
  
"Maybe a little," he teased you. "Does this hurt?" he asked as he massaged you, and you told him the truth, "A little...I think it's mostly psychological because I don't know what you're going to do to me next."  
  
"You feel fear in your cock?"  
  
"Yeah," you shrugged, "I guess I do."  
  
Brian's fingers moved up your body to your wrists and the binding around the mitts began to loosen as he spoke, "I guess if you're feeling emotions in your dick, that's a good place to call it a night, huh?"  
  
Your heart skipped half a beat as you realized that Brian meant he was releasing you from all your restraints. As soon as your hands were free, you reached for him blindly, holding onto his shirt sleeve. He hadn't even undressed.  
  
"I'm going to light a candle and kill these lights before I remove your hood," he said, "Smooth your transition."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
When he came back to the bed, the scent of a match floated in front of your face. He unzipped your mouth...and kissed you. It surprised you, and the zipper rubbing against your face felt odd and prickly, but his tongue in your mouth made that all better. "Hold still," he said as he began to unzip the back of the hood. You felt the air on the back of your neck first and then the hot leather being pulled away. "Your hair...it's soaked," Brian said as he ran his hands through it. You opened your eyes, and he was staring right at you. You reached to wrap your arm around his chest as he pulled you close and held you. In the hushed moment, you began to unbutton his dress shirt, kissing his chest as the material parted beneath your hand. **  
  
**BRIAN'S POV**  
**  
You found yourself relieved that it was over. You realized too late that you'd taken _yourself_ too far that time; that you were losing control of the moment. Justin was whispering against your chest, and you tilted his head back and asked, "What are you saying?" His wet hair fell through your fingers as if it was racing back to his scalp.  
  
"That you're always exactly the man I need."  
  
"That's sweet," you said, “But probably not entirely true.”  
  
"No, it's the truth.”  
  
"Where's your pain now?" you asked him.  
  
"In the stratosphere."  
  
"You have to let me know when it comes back into Earth's orbit."  
  
"I will," he promised.  
  
Every time you tried to help him undress you, your hands were pushed away. Justin took his time; you closed your eyes and just let yourself enjoy it. You wanted to be touched. Part of you felt guilty, like you needed to be focused on him, but that part of you was giving way quickly. When you were nude and face to face again, Justin smoothed your hair and looked right into your eyes, "You were right; I needed to be reminded that your pleasure matters more than anything else."  
  
You felt oddly free and almost as if you were hovering a few inches off the sheets as he spoke to you. "I want to be taken care of," you heard yourself say.  
  
"Anything you want," Justin whispered.  
  
"Anything?" you questioned.  
  
His eyes never left yours, "Anything."  
  
"Well, for starters, I'd like you to eat my ass the way you did when you were just learning how."  
  
"Ummm," Justin said looking confused, "How was that?"  
  
You smiled and mussed up his hair, "You used to rim me like you were afraid of what I would think or afraid of my asshole, or something. Don't you remember all the encouragement I had to give you? I was practically cheering you on with pom poms."  
  
"Brian, that's a lie," he insisted though he looked like he believed it.  
  
"Do it like you're afraid, again...like it's your first time tasting me."  
  
Justin rolled his eyes a little, and then gave you a coy look, "What if I have a better idea?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I'll take care of you, just close your eyes and let me do it my way, okay?"  
  
Nobody's ideas are ever better than yours, but he's unbearably cute when he asks nicely for something, so you sighed a lot and closed your eyes. At first, he was just kissing you everywhere, teasing, biting kisses as he positioned you on your back with your knees bent. And then you felt him slither off the bed. You reached down and wrapped your hands around your ankles.  
  
The next time you detected him, his fingers were making circles around your asshole, spreading you apart, and then you felt the tip of his tongue...and something weird. Something that wasn't just him.  
  
Something with strange teeth.  
  
Material brushed against your thighs. You got chills. Quietly, he said, "Open your eyes, Brian."  
  
You opened them and looked down between your legs at his black leather-covered head moving back and forth. He began to moan, to press a little harder; sometimes you could feel his lips, sometimes just the metal grooves of the zipper. It was scary and invigorating at the same time. He paused, "Isn't this better than your idea?"  
  
"God, yes. Why do I like this?" you asked as if the universe was going to float an answer your way in a tiny air balloon or something.  
  
Justin provided one instead, "Because you like to live right on the edge sometimes."  
  
"The thrill...."  
  
"Exactly." You started to say something else, but Justin was 'shhing' you, climbing back up your body, blinded in the hood and all. You grabbed him and kissed him, the teeth of the zipper gnashing around your lips, scratching you; you didn't care. You started to unzip it again, to take it off but he shook his head and dipped his mouth by your ear, "Let me take care of you."  
  
"Okay," you whispered.  
  
And that's when you knew he was going to fuck you. You couldn't fight him, at least not this persona he'd adopted; you couldn't disallow the leather hood rubbing against your chest, your neck, your face; you couldn't turn away from the scent of filth and leather and him all mixed up in this weird way. You couldn't refute what he was saying, "Brian, you're so open right now; you're so ready." You reached down and found his hand on your hip and covered it with yours as he administered this pleasure on your behalf.  
  
He couldn't see you, but that didn't stop you from watching him fuck you; it was strangely arousing, almost like you were watching porn that you weren't actually in. With his face obstructed, you had to look everywhere else--at his flat stomach, his pleasure trail. He was fucking you like it was his job, and you really liked that bizarre feeling.  
  
And you could tell that he was trying so hard not to make this about him or the fact that his last orgasm had been in your trash can at work. But your body knows his body, and when Justin gets close to orgasm, his whole body stiffens beneath his skin in weird waves, and you weren't ready for this to be over. You did what you had to had to do; you pinned his head against your chest and reached down and spanked him hard with your hand. " _Don't_ ," you hissed, "Nobody gave you permission to do that."  
  
He moaned hard and then teased your nipple through the zipper. You spanked him again for trying to change the subject. "Be careful," he warned you, "That's not exactly a disincentive."  
  
"You do this on my timeline, Sunshine, not yours."  
  
"Then take over," he begged you.  
  
You flipped him so you were on top, unzipped the hood, yanked it off and threw it across the room. You leaned in low, your hand on the back of his head, "You look at me and concentrate. You get on my wavelength."  
  
"You're riding me," he moaned in protest, "I'm toast."  
  
"No, no, no," you warned him, "You're not some teenage kid anymore; you're a grown man, and you can postpone a little pleasure for the greater good."  
  
"The Greater _God_ ," he said.  
  
"Funny...but true."  
  
"Brian, I love you," he said.  
  
"No 'I love yous,' you chastised, "You always say that when you're about to come."  
  
Justin took a deep breath, "I'm going to clear my mind for you," and closed his eyes.  
  
"Good boy," you said like you were hushing him to sleep. You watched him carefully as you sat up a little and allowed yourself to sit all the way down on his cock.  
  
His hand wandered to yours and began to gently stroke you as you rode him. His other hand rested on your thigh. "I can do this," he said.  
  
"Perfect," you said as you picked up speed. All the things you wanted to say to him about how it felt to have him inside you...you said in your head and tried to file them away for later. You looked to your right and saw the voice recorder just lying in the sheets, so you picked it up and turned it on...letting Justin's voice fill the room again:  
  
_'Brian's pleasure is the only thing that matters to me.'  
  
'I'm grateful Brian takes the time to punish me. It's for my own good.'_  
  
When climax became inevitable, you squeezed his hand around your dick and said, "Faster," and that's all it took to set off the chain of events. The recorder was still playing when it was over, when Justin's chest and chin were covered in cum, and you were both spent. You ran your hand over the mattress until you found the little machine and clicked it off.  
  
"Justin, I'm proud of you," you said as you laid down beside him.  
  
"It felt so good to do that for you," he said, a satisfaction in his voice.  
  
"Do we have a cum towel?" you asked.  
  
"I'll get one," he said, but as he started to get up, you pushed him right back down. "Uh uh," you said, "I'll get it."  
  
"If you kneel on the concrete floor, it makes a nice mess," he offered.  
  
"Yeah, not really my thing. Where do you come up with all these sick ideas?"  
  
Justin laughed, "My other husband is a little twisted...well, a lot twisted, really. He has some issues he really needs to work out."  
  
You popped him with the cum towel when you got back to the bed, and then immediately got in trouble when Justin realized you'd grabbed the good hand towel. "Brian, I spent a mint on those. I don't buy the expensive shit you make me buy to watch you wedge it in your crack!"  
  
You shrugged, " _You_ wanted to fuck me...."  
  
"From now on, I only buy towels at Target or Bed, Bath, and--"  
  
"Butt sex?" you asked.  
  
"That's the only place I'm shopping from now on." **  
  
**JUSTIN'S POV**  
**  
The evening had become something you'd never expected, but you liked it, and you liked lying on the cool sheets next to Brian as he smoked a cigarette. You rolled on your side and watched him, sometimes dipping down to position a few grateful kisses on his collarbone. "You seem like you're in deep thought about something, Brian."  
  
"I kind of am."  
  
You took a chance, "That you wanted me to fuck you? Like that?"  
  
Brian stared at the ceiling as he deflected, "It's not like you don't top once in awhile."  
  
"Brian, that wasn't me wanting to top; that was you wanting to be fucked...like that."  
  
"So?" he questioned a little too aggressively. "You said you wanted to take care of me. That was not _all_ me."  
  
"True, that's true. I'll back off. You don't want to talk about it. That's perfectly okay." Brian flicked his dead cigarette off the bed; something that a concrete floor makes you not really worry about. You leaned down and kissed his collarbone again.  
  
"Are you in pain yet? I feel like I wore your ass out tonight."  
  
"You did, and I don't feel it yet. I will tell you when I do; I promise."  
  
"Even if I'm asleep? You'll wake me up?" he asked you.  
  
"Absolutely. I know how you feel about the descent. It's sweet, really. If you're tired, it's okay to sleep, Brian."  
  
He sighed and rolled toward you, pulling your body against his and pressing your face against his chest. His fingers stroked and stroked through your hair as he kissed the top of your head. "I don't like to fall asleep before you," he admitted. "I don't think I can."  
  
But you weren't tired; you were actually a little revved up after everything, but you let him think you were, your arm draped lazily over his torso. Eventually, he dozed off for a bit.  
  
You couldn't help but wonder what he was dreaming about.  
  
And then, all you could think about was that he was right; his pleasure is all that matters to you.


	11. Negotiations 8-9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #8-Originally published 5/31/15  
> #9-Originally published 6/21/15

**NEGOTIATIONS **8  
JUSTIN'S POV**  
**  
Later that night, you and Brian soaked in your jacuzzi off your bedroom. You were both uncharacteristically quiet; your minds seemingly occupied with earlier events. You wondered if you were both thinking about the same moments or not, but you didn't want to ask Brian directly. It felt like the wrong time. He had the right, you decided, to be preoccupied with whatever he wanted. You opted to take the minimal conversation in a different direction. "Brian, you remember that I fly to New York tomorrow for that gallery visit, right?"  
  
"Oh shit; that's right. I remember; I just lost track of what day it was. What time's your flight?"  
  
"Eleven thirty in the morning."  
  
"So, you need to get up when I do? Get packed and get out of here?"  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"I'll take you to the airport. You'll be a little early, but if you don't mind--"  
  
Brian's arms were around you, his forearm crossed over your chest, his fingers curled around your shoulder. You hung your hands on either side and tilted your head back, "That would be great...and I was thinking, why don't you fly up after work tomorrow, and we'll just spend a weekend in the city?"  
  
"Hmm...."  
  
"Expensive hotel, people waiting on us hand and foot; I can pack for both of us in the morning--"  
  
"Sounds good; you don't need to sell it so hard."  
  
"Sorry, that was the Brian Kinney in me. I'll recalibrate."  
  
Brian laughed.  
  
***********  
Out of the jacuzzi, you questioned Brian as the two of you dried off, "Are we going to talk about that?" You pointed to his erection.  
  
Brian picked up a washcloth off the counter and hung it on his cock, "The miracles of modern medicine."  
  
“I just think you should get a real prescription instead of taking samples from what’s-his-face all the time.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“You take a lot of it _a lot_ , Brian.”  
  
He gave you a rather put upon look, “Well, someone I know wants their tight little ass fucked twenty-four/seven.”  
  
“I have no clue who you’re talking about.”  
  
.......  
  
Finally back in your own bed, you touched him, a languid stroke on his persistent dick as you asked him, "Can you come again?"  
  
"I don't think so. It's a bit like Franken-dick right now."  
  
"Well, it needs to go down. It can't just stare at me all night."  
  
"Cut him a break; he's only got one eye."  
  
You laughed as Brian rolled on top of you, kissed you and asked, "Pain? Feel it yet?"  
  
"Sort of, but every time you kiss me like that, it vanishes. Weirdest thing."  
  
There was an inordinate amount of kissing after that, pretty much all over your entire body; the affection, the sensation was overwhelming. You were toying with Brian's hair as he kissed your stomach and in a hushed voice, he told you to, "Roll over."  
  
"'Kay."  
  
His hands massaged your ass, stopping only to allow for kisses to be planted here and there. And then he was back on top of you, pressing your body into the sheets, pushing your hair out of the way and tasting the back of your neck. "I can't stop thinking about it...." Brian said with no further verbal explanation.  
  
You opened your eyes and surveyed the room as if alerting your brain to pay closer attention. "Huh? About what?" you asked.  
  
"I haven't felt that...sensation...in a really long time...in like forever," he added.  
  
You weren't sure what he meant; you could just sort of tell that this wasn't a two-way conversation; maybe this was a monologue that you were just periodically interrupting. You moaned his name and in one slick maneuver, rolled over underneath him so you could face one another, your arms wrapped around his neck. "Is this why you're still hard?" you asked.  
  
Brian huffed a little through a smile, "Probably. Wrap your legs around me."  
  
"Are you going to fuck me?" you asked, your hands smoothing down his back to his ass.  
  
"Do you want me to?" he asked, but he was already inside you, his hands having skimmed down your torso and captured your ass, squeezing your body against his. It got rough almost immediately; the two of you smashing your bodies together in some sort of chaotic yet well-honed routine.  
  
" _Deep,_ " you breathed out as if what was happening needed to be narrated in that moment.  
  
"Good boy," Brian said as if offering that kind of praise was going to get him even further inside you. "You come whenever you're ready."  
  
Your eyes squeezed shut; your brow furrowed; your mouth opened, and all you could focus on was Brian saying, "Okay, okay...okay," while you felt the hot sticky evidence pouring out of you and onto your stomach. He pulled out almost immediately and slid down to lick the cum of your belly and to suck on you just a little to make sure he'd gotten every drop.  
  
He's nice like that.  
  
*********  
You awoke around three-something in the morning and found yourself in an empty bed with Brian nowhere to be found. Concerned, you put on the gray terry cloth robe you wore up from the dungeon earlier that night and began to go downstairs. He wasn't in the home theater or the sauna or the kitchen, but the light was on behind the door to the basement stairs. "Brian? Where are you?" you called as you cautiously walked downstairs. No answer as you made your way through the wine cellar to the dungeon. You opened the door slowly, sort of spooked and then realized that he couldn't hear you because he was standing at the bathroom sink wearing a pair of old sweat pants with the water on blast while music was playing in the concrete room. When the water turned off, he turned, saw you, and jumped, a wet rag in his hand. "Fuck! You scared me!" he yelled and then he laughed at himself.  
  
"Brian, it's after three. What are you doing?"  
  
"It's a mess down here," he said.  
  
"And you couldn't sleep?"  
  
"Yeah," he said as he bent down and started scrubbing the floor where he'd made you drip dry earlier that night. You shook your head at him and walked over to the bed and picked up all the implements of pain scattered everywhere. You hung each one up and then stripped the bed along with the very expensive cum towel that had dried and become an abstract sculpture at that point. Sighing, you trudged back upstairs and started the washing machine. Brian would never let them just sit until you got home from your trip. The biggest concession you'd ever gotten from him was after a huge fight about how it's not the end of the world to let dry clothes sit in the dryer for a couple of hours. With Brian, a tiny victory feels like you won the lottery.  
  
It wasn't until you were buckled into your aisle seat on the way to New York the following morning that you realized that all of those implements weren't on the bed when the two of you had abandoned the dungeon the night before.

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 9**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
**  
The moment your seat belt clicked shut on your flight to New York City late the next day, you allowed yourself to really feel the anxiety that had been hovering around you like a noxious fart all day. You ordered a drink, took a Xanax, and closed your eyes letting the tension engulf you like a sand storm....  
  
Every time Justin goes to New York for work, you feel like you felt before he came back. You imagine him meeting a better man with more money and less hang ups and, ultimately, staying in the city. It's utterly ridiculous, and you know it. Knowing something, however, seems to have very little in common with feeling something. When he’s away, you start to miss him in an almost toxic way. You wonder if he knows this happens; you suspect he does because somehow he knows everything about your emotional fortress. You could defend it with a thousand men, and when the battle was over and the dust settled, you'd still find Justin in the middle of your territory leaning on a flag he made out of one of his abstract _what the hell is this one about?_ paintings, smiling with no pants on.  
  
If he goes to New York to visit friends, the anxiety never comes.  
  
Your car service navigates the crowded New York city streets around five thirty on a Friday, and you stare out the window and tell yourself that the weird feelings are gone and won't be back. Justin texts you the room number and tells you it was the best room he could get on short notice. No penthouse suite this visit; you'll just vacation like a commoner.  
  
_Sacrifices._  
  
You sling your bag backwards as you enter the lobby of the hotel and search for the elevator. When you're in front of your door, room 617, you knock twice. Justin opens the door and frowns, "I thought you were room service."  
  
"I am," you laugh, pushing your way in, “I’m here to service you.”  
  
“You must’ve heard the rumor that I tip well,” Justin says.  
  
He takes your bag from you the same way he takes your briefcase when you come home from work, and then scans the room looking for a place to put it. He sits it in a chair by the room's only table, and then points to the view, the curtains already open wide. "Pretty cool view, I think," he says.  
  
"Very urban," you surmise.  
  
"The sounds, the sirens, the horns.... It's like being at the loft in the old days times ten," he offers.  
  
"So, I have to go downstairs and outside to smoke?" you ask.  
  
"Yeah, sorry, but I'm sure we can find something to do that will take your mind of that."  
  
"All right," you tell him as you take a cigarette out and just pretend to smoke it.  
  
Justin notices immediately, "Uh--- you only do that when you're tense, Brian. Come over here." You drop the bad habit on the table and walk over to where he is at the window. He starts to loosen your tie as he speaks, "Bad day at work? You didn't even change before the flight."  
  
"Yeah," you lie and then tell a little truth, "Sometimes I just get tired of having to be the smartest guy in the room _and_ the boss, you know?"  
  
"You make plenty of money; hire another assistant or promote someone to take some shit off of you."  
  
"I don't really want to talk about work, okay?"  
  
"Okay. Just trying to help you relax," Justin admits, and then in a very unassuming way that makes you laugh, he asks, "Do you want a blow job?"  
  
"Boy, you move fast. Could you get me a drink before I let you in my pants?"  
  
"Sure," and then he walks to the mini-bar, opens the fridge, and makes a _Price Is Right_ hand motion and says, "Which little bottle would you like?"  
  
"They got any top shelf whiskey in there?"  
  
Justin leans down and peruses the shelf, "Nope, bottom shelf."  
  
"That's fine."  
  
The two of you clink your mini-bottles together and down them like pros.  
  
You know you should ask about his day, about how the gallery face-time went, who he saw, what work he got out of it, but you don't want to talk about it. He probably knows this, too, you surmise, because he doesn't bring it up either. Instead, you go a completely different direction, "I got you a present at the airport."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yep." You walk over to your bag and pull it out of the back pocket. It's wrapped only in the plastic bag from the store.  
  
Justin's brow furrows when he sees the bag, "You bought me something at a drugstore? Is it condoms? Are we tricking this weekend?"  
  
"Yes, no, and maybe." You hand him the bag, and the second he touches it, he knows what it is. He gets a coy smile on his face as he unwraps the paddle brush.  
  
"You shouldn't have," he teases you.  
  
"But I did, and I'm going to," you tell him.  
  
"But I don't have anything for you," he admits  
  
"Oh, yes, you do," you say, and he smiles and wraps his arms around your torso. Your fingers walk down his belly and pop the button on his pants; you slide your hand in on top of his briefs, searching for the extent of his erection. "I'm sorry, Sir," he whispers when you find it, and the speed at which Justin can take _himself_ to subspace gives you a cold chill. You whisper back to him, "Everything off. I want you to show it to me." In that micro-moment, he’s surrendered to you, and to this day that tiny shift gives you butterflies in your stomach.  
  
Justin steps back and stares at you while he undresses. You get up and sit in the room's lone easy chair by the window. You crook your finger, telling him to come over to you, so he does. That coy smile returns as he touches himself right in front of you, stroking himself and showing off what he’s made just for you. "What's that about?" you ask him.  
  
"Show and tell?" he tries.  
  
"Well, you've mastered showing, so how about some telling?"  
  
Justin flushes a little and then fights it, staring down at you as you touch him, "You bought me a hair brush. What did you expect?"  
  
"Most expensive one I've ever bought," you admit.  
  
"Yeah, 'cause you bought it in an airport drugstore!" he teases.  
  
You stroke him gently, sometimes leaning forward and licking the head of his cock, his fingers digging into your shoulder. "You think you're ready to be across my lap again?"  
  
"I know I am."  
  
"Well, that's a bold statement considering what happened last time."  
  
"That will never happen again. I apologized, and I was punished profusely," Justin says, a slight pleading in the tone of his voice.  
  
"You deserved that punishment," you tell him and then smile at him, at his earnest cock, at how easily you can bend him to your will. His dick is beautiful, thick and warm and persistent. "You're beautiful," you say while you're staring at it, and he gets a little embarrassed. " _Brian,"_ he chastises.  
  
"I'm horny, but I'm serious, too," you tell him, "And you're fiercely cute."  
  
"Did you drink a 'woobie' potion on the plane or something?"  
  
"No, well...sort of, but I just think that you spend a lot of time thinking about how gorgeous I am, and I want you to know that I feel the same way every day."  
  
“I do not think about how gorgeous you are all day long,” he retorts.  
  
“Oh, you little liar,” you tease him.  
  
"We needed this...to just get away," Justin says.  
  
"You're right," and then you lean forward and take his cock in your mouth, and his hands move to the back of your head and just toy with your hair. He doesn't push you at all; he just moans as you let him fuck your face for a few seconds. While you're sucking him, you let your hands wander to his ass, your fingertips trailing up and down his crack.  
  
"All I can think about is you fucking me," he admits.  
  
"Oh, now that’s a lie; you think about way more than that; open your legs a little." He does, and then you let him feel the cool back of the wooden hairbrush down his back, over his ass, and down the back of his thigh. You motion to the window with your head, "The whole city can see you right now, you know."  
  
"I know; you love it. I'm sure you're hard as a rock."  
  
You watch and smile as his hands, the muscles and tendons - splayed wide on the window - tell the story as you begin to spank him. At times, his forehead rests against the glass as he braces himself for the escalation of pain he’s so familiar with. When you touch his right hand, lift it off the glass, and direct it to his cock, he arches his back even more; he strokes himself while whispered words escape his mouth, _”Yes...please...Brian...again….”_  
  
"Good boy," you compliment him as your hand runs across his bottom kneading the pinked skin. He exhales in desperation when he feels your hand instead of the expected pain. You toy with him, letting him feel both - pain one moment; tactile pleasure the next. He begins to jerk himself with purpose as he looks back at you, a hopeless expression on his face. “Please,” he pleads with you.  
  
"You can come on the window."  
  
"I need to be fucked,...please."  
  
"On the window for me. Then, I fuck you.”  
  
He creams the window and his hand, and you get up right away and unzip your pants. You fuck his on-fire little ass right there above the traffic as rain drops start to splat against the glass canvas in front of you. “Oh my god...yes,” he says over and over. He attempts to brace himself against the window unable to really make it work.  
  
His wet hand print lingers after you're done; he asks you to stay inside him, so you pivot carefully and bring him--still on your cock--back to the chair. He's warm and spent and bends backwards to kiss you.. "Brian… _Jesus_ ,” he moans.  
  
“Yes, we are often mistaken for one another.”  
  
“I needed that...so badly.”  
  
You run your fingers over his stomach so lightly that he cringes now and then at the tickly sensation, “I know you did.” He shifts on your lap, striking a languid pace while riding you. “I didn’t take anything,” you say quietly because you know he can feel it. He can always tell. He stops moving because it’s becoming counter-productive to your physical connection.  
  
“That’s fine with me. You put too much pressure on yourself,” he says quietly.  
  
“I do it for you,” you respond in kind.  
  
You feel his hand curl around the back of your head; his body arching out into the room as if his torso is a harp, “Pleasure isn’t just about an endless erection. I know you know that.”  
  
“I feel guilty when I can’t perform for you,” you confess.  
  
He sighs, his body relaxing a little, his mouth right under your jaw bone, “You act like I keep a journal on it or something.”  
  
“I know, okay? It’s stupid.”  
  
“No, it’s not stupid, Brian; it’s sweet. Unbearably so, sometimes.”  
  
You don’t know how or why this conversation has become what it’s become, but it’s happened, so fuck it. “When I had you a few minutes ago, you were pleading with me, saying you needed to be fucked. I would mentally implode if my body couldn’t respond to you.”  
  
“Pardon the awkward timing, but we need to get out of this chair before we have to replace it.”  
  
You laugh because he’s right; your lap has become a slip-and-slide. You push him off of you, and he takes two steps to the bed and yanks the covers back, climbs in, and waits for you as you finish undressing. The subject is dropped the second your skin touches his.  
  
You lie on top of him, letting your sticky thighs grease the connection between you. The mere simulation of the act makes him needy; his legs squeeze around your waist as your bodies glide against one another. It’s just pure, wet pleasure with no endgame in sight. He whispers in your ear, “ _Somehow you make this whole city an erogenous zone._ ”  
  
“Well, I am on the zoning committee,” you razz.  
  
“Thank god for that.”  
  
"You're going to be sore, sweetheart. Very, very sore."  
  
"I can't wait," Justin says, "Being sore is like when you send yourself a postcard on vacation to read when you get home."  
  
"That is a bizarre analogy."  
  
"You never did that?"  
  
"Uh, no, but I see a lot of postcards in your future."  
  
"Like my mailbox is going to be full?"  
  
"Stuffed is more like it."  
  
……  
  
It occurs to you that you need to do this more often with Justin - this slippery frottage - because he’s ravenous in your arms, and there’s a tension in his body that he gives entirely to you. “ _You like this,_ ” you say into his ear. His moaned response is tempered with frustration-laced desire, and then he says, “This is like being on E without the E.”  
  
“A little lubricated friction is all it takes to make you come undone, darling.”  
  
“Are you complaining, Brian?”  
  
“No. Absolutely not.”  
  
“Because it sounds like you’re bemoaning the sad fact that I’m very easy.”  
  
You tease him, “Oh, now you can’t help that. Look who you married. Being a whore was a prerequisite to our entire relationship.”  
  
“God, that’s so true - of both of us.”  
  
You glance up to see what time it is on the hotel clock radio and laugh because Justin moved in the second he got here. The second shelf of the nightstand looks like a retail display stand at a sex toy store. “Are you sure you didn’t forget anything you might need?” you ask him, and his eye follows yours and smiles.  
  
He’s adamant in his response, “I had to bring all of those half ounce lube samples we have because they won’t let you bring more than three ounces of anything on a fucking plane. Open the top drawer.”  
  
You reach over and pull it open and start laughing because he brought a shitload of them. “Are we having a key party tonight?”  
  
“We’ve been invited to a sex club,” he offers.  
  
“Excuse me?” (This intrigues you.) “By whom?”  
  
“Clive. It’s a club called ‘The Black Hole.’”  
  
“Clive? Is he fucking around on his partner now?”  
  
“Actually,” Justin says, his voice animated, “Oliver is working on his agoraphobia, and so far he’s the most comfortable at that club, so they go there a lot.”  
  
“Please tell me you got more than just an orgy invite out of this gallery visit.”  
  
His eyebrows dance, “Oh, absolutely. He’s going to take eight of the ten pieces I offered him. It went well.”  
  
“If we go, I’m taking a pill,” you warn him.  
  
Justin rolls his eyes, “I know you will. And this isn’t a kinky club, just so you understand. It’s just a sex--”  
  
“It’s an orgy with a cover charge, basically.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
You question him, “And you want to go because...you’ll move even higher up on Clive’s list or ...because you really _want_ to go?”  
  
“I want to see Oliver; he’s hilarious, and I think it’d be fun, Brian. Plus, it’ll be an evening of debauchery which is your favorite kind of evening.”  
  
“Your idea of hilarious is an overweight, agoraphobic, gay accountant conquering his fears at a paid orgy?”  
  
“He's a stock broker, not an accountant, and you get to take Viagra minus the guilt trip. Go start a hot shower for me. We need to eat; I’m starving.” (You like it when he gets bossy. If he keeps it up, you won't need the little blue pill.)  
  
When he joins you under the water, you pin him against the cold tile wall, “I know why you really want to go.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you and your ass will get oggled all night long, and I’ll have to mark my territory to keep guys away from you.”  
  
“Like I won’t have to spend the entire night giving every bottom a dirty look for even _thinking_ that you’re available.”  
  
“So, we’re taking our egos out for a night on the town, then?” you ask him.  
  
He takes the shampoo from you and gives you a little smirk, “It sure looks that way.”  
  
Indeed.


	12. Negotiations 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter, so just 1 in this post. Originally published 7/26/15.

**NEGOTIATIONS 10**  
**JUSTIN'S POV**

One would think - considering that past behavior influences future behavior - that getting your husband (in particular) to a sex club on a Friday night in NYC would be - at the very least - uncomplicated.

Wrong.

And because one is generally nude while at a sex club, one would think that the evening's wardrobe choice wouldn't be all that complicated either.

Wrong again.

You have to fight with the man you love because you're hungry for food, not boutique hopping which seems to be the only activity Brian's ready to engage in. "You have plenty of clothes, and I brought you your favorite options. I packed very carefully for you,” you tell him.

"I want something new."

"I want to eat dinner, Brian. I'm starving."

This argument happens in the car you've ordered as it drives aimlessly around the city awaiting a destination. "Why can't we just go to one store?" Brian presses.

"Fine. But one means _one_ ," you emphasize.

"Fine." Brian surfs his phone until he finds a store he likes and gives the driver the address. You roll your eyes and collapse into your seat.

The shopping portion of the evening goes exactly as you expect. Brian has the salesman pack the dressing room with every expensive piece of clubwear he can find, and then settles on jeans and a black shirt. "Do you like this?" he asks as you sit sideways in a chair watching him preen in a mirror.

"Yes, I like it. You look amazing." You mean it; he just exhausts you sometimes. Brian leaves the pile of rejects in the dressing room and pays over six hundred dollars for a slightly newer pair of designer jeans and a black shirt which he wears out of the store thirty minutes past closing. You carry the bag of the clothes he wore inside and apologize to the manager as he lets you out of the front door.

"Don't do that," Brian chastises you, "Don't apologize for me. I just dropped a ton of cash in there."

"You're just wearing a newer version of what I packed for you."

"I know that, okay? I know that. Where do you want to eat?"

Finally...dinner.

***********  
**BRIAN’S POV**

Feelings…emotions…are somewhat a challenge for you, a fault even you’ll freely admit, but then there are times when they seem to be functioning exactly as they should be, and your challenge now is to communicate them to Justin without causing a pothole in an otherwise wonderful evening. The longer you’re married to Justin; the more cautious you become – perhaps living a life with love in it has given you an appreciation for what you never quite imagined you’d have. And you know you come upon the subject much differently than he does because he never doubted for a minute that his life would be full of love. You each arrived at the same spot from a very different direction.

Justin took a few minutes during the meal to explain Oliver's situation to you: how Oliver had been in one of the towers near ground zero on 9/11, and how the terror and confusion of that day had done a number on him psychologically. "For awhile, he worked out of an office in Clive's gallery - that's how I know him - and he did okay, but his anxiety got worse and worse, and now he works out of an office at their apartment."

"So Clive owns that gallery?" you ask.

"Yep, it's his. For awhile, he felt like a failure because he couldn't help Oliver, but then they went to a shrink and then that shrink got some real help for Oliver."

"So him being out at a club is a really big deal?"

"Yeah, just don't make any terrorism jokes when you meet him."

"Right, because I make terrorism jokes all the time."

Beyond that discussion, the rest of dinner is mostly spent admiring what the city offers versus Pittsburgh and engaging in general small talk. Justin is a bit distant, but it’s very slight and not something that anyone else would pick up on because they don’t know him like you do. You both have had plenty to drink, though, so it isn’t a terminal issue. You’re finally comfortable enough when the two of you are back in your car being driven to the club. You impress upon the driver to take the long way; it’s a little early, and you need information. It’s also a semi-wet and very freezing night Friday night in February, so Justin is sitting close to you for warmth; he smiles up at you when you put your arm around him.

“This club we’re going to – I think we need to establish some guidelines,” you start.

He brushes off the suggestion, “We’re fine.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. I’m not comfortable doing this without having that discussion first,” you explain.

“Okay,” he says, pulling your leather glove off your hand one finger at a time.

“What do you want from this?”

“I want to have a good time with my partner.”

“Could you clarify what that means?”

He turns toward you and says very sincerely, "Yes, I guess I could. I could lay out every scenario I've anticipated and what the game plan will be, but what fun is that?" He pauses, sighs, and then continues, "You always ask me to trust you about these things, and I want you to trust me, too. Our sex life has a lot of caves we've never explored. I want to look around a little."

You respond, "Okay, so we have little battery operated flashlights on our foreheads, and we're going to do some naked spelunking tonight?"

"Feel free to use that imagery if it makes you okay with this." There's a bossy tone to his reply which goes straight to your crotch.

"Okay, fair enough, I just want you to know that there’s no way I can walk into a situation like this and not feel very protective of you.”

“Okay,” and then he sits up straighter and puts his hands in his lap which is typically a prequel to a speech, “This isn’t a test. I’m not trying to bait you or make you uncomfortable or show off how our age difference is going to seriously lean in my favor.”

“That’s precisely my point, smart ass.”

“I want you to be you, to enjoy yourself, and I want to be with you when it happens.”

“All right,” you concede.

“I mean, we push the boundaries all the time in our sex life in some really intense ways; I don’t know why this has you so up in arms.” He starts plucking embedded pieces of ice off of your scarf, and instinctively, you know you should probably shut up at this point.

......

As you and Justin arrive at the club and step out of the car, Clive and Oliver are leaving, bundled up with huge smiles on their faces. Introductions are made and you see that they both have ten to fifteen years on you and clearly go clubbing rather earlier with the more geriatric subset. Justin hugs Oliver who brags to him that he's been away from home for over three hours and that Clive is more anxious about the evening than he was. You find that sentiment familiar, and it makes you smile. You part ways with an invitation to Sunday brunch if the two of you are interested. No commitments are made.

The Black Hole was merely a black door with a silver street number on it, and when you open it, you're in a small, dark gray foyer where a host is standing. "First timers?" he asks.

"Out of towners," you say.

The host smiles and hands you a packet, a matte black brochure envelope with the name of the club embossed in silver. "Everything you need to know. The next step is the bar where you can have a drink and look it over. Adam, the bartender, can answer any questions you have."

"What's the cover?" you ask.

"Thirty each or fifty for a couple."

You dig fifty dollars out of your jeans and handed it to the guy.

The bar is pretty simple; the room quieter than you expected. The walls are a lighter gray; the furniture black. You and Justin sit at the bar. There are about five small tables behind you, two of them taken. Justin opens the pamphlet and takes out the various brochures. "Something smells good," you say, and Justin hands you a pamphlet explaining the massage oils that are complimentary. You open each tab and smelled them one by one before handing it to back to Justin, "Which one do you like?"

"That aqua one. What's it called?" he asks.

"Iceberg. I like it, too." The bartender appears out of nowhere, and you order shots for both of you. "There are some rules," Justin says and hands you that part of the packet.

"No unprotected sex. I figured that."

"We provide everything you need," the bartender says. "Condoms, lube, towels, robes. It's all available." As he placed your shots in front of you, he continues, "Nothing non-consensual and absolutely no illegal drugs."

"No bumpy rides then huh?" you joke.

"Exactly. Let me know if I can help you with anything else. You can enter the club any time you like through this door." He points the way.

….

The Black Hole puts on a pretty decent orgy, albeit with a different aesthetic than what you expected. The outer bar is innocuous, but the trip to the club entrance is down a long hallway flanked by a one way mirror that allows you to see into the room. When the hall empties into an upscale locker room with an attendant, you walk to the back corner with Justin and undress. You enter the room in just a white towel with Justin in a towel and an open white terry cloth robe. He has apparently stashed bottles of complimentary massage oil in the pockets.

The dim, warm lighting is fine; the music is new age meditation shit, and you realize that it’s the first time you’ll ever have a boner listening to this crap. “Yuck, this music is horrible,” you mumble.

“It’s kind of erotic in a way,” Justin says taking your hand. He walks you over to an empty area, takes his robe off, and sits down beside you. "There are some really good looking guys in here."

"Stop," you tell him, "You're making me blush."

He smacks your stomach with the back of his hand and laughs, and then falls against you fitting perfectly under your arm. "Don't smile at anyone," you warn him, and he tells you he's not an amateur at this and maybe you should remember that he spent years living in this city all by himself. "Have you been here before?" you ask him, and he shakes his head. You feel relieved and hypocritical at the same time.

A few minutes pass with quiet between you, and then you ask him (with a little squeeze to his shoulder), "What do you think?"

"I'm trying really hard not to smile," he says.

"At who?" you ask.

"Brian, I'm teasing you. What do you think?"

You take a deep breath, "Well, I think I could have anyone I want in section six over there."

"Hmm, yeah, I agree. Who do you like?"

"Well, the blond of course, but that Italian kid on the right is hot, too."

"I agree," Justin says, and then he leaves you, walking around the back of the sofa.

“What’re you doing?” you ask him, your head making a loop as it follows him.

“Relax,” he says from behind you, his oily hands sliding up and down your chest.

You tip your head back, “You’re a weirdo.”

“I told you to relax, Brian,” he admonishes you, so you let your head fall back. Your hands circle his forearms and pull him down for an upside-down kiss. “That’s better,” he offers. You smile and raise your head again to peruse the room full of gay men doing what gay men do. The smell, sounds, and sight familiar. Justin whispers behind your ear, “Touch yourself.” His hands keep moving down and up and sometimes in circles on your torso. You enjoy the attention as you slip your hand inside your towel. You’re mostly hard and between the buzz from the bar and the sensation of Justin’s hands on your skin, you feel very blissed out. When Justin’s slippery hand meets up with yours between your legs, you tip your head back again and beg him, “Come back around; I can’t reach you.”

“You’re fine, and your cock is beautiful.” You look down, and your towel has fallen, exposing you. Guys are looking at you, sending signals that you need no assistance in reading. Justin’s kissing your neck, your shoulders, and you just want him to come back around the damn sofa. "Invite him over," he says.

It takes very little eye contact to get the guy right in front of you, and you realize he’s probably barely twenty-five, but he's gorgeous. “My partner wants to fuck you,” Justin says like it’s something he says every day. The guy leans left to reach the bowl of condoms, and then stands back in front of you offering the protection, “Sounds good to me.”

“We do this my way,” Justin says, climbing over the sofa and losing his towel at the same time.

You just sit there and watch Justin set the scene while you roll the rubber on. The guy is quickly on all fours on the sofa with you behind him and Justin in front of him. Justin nods when he wants you to start, and as you penetrate the kid, Justin pushes the guy’s open mouth down on his dick. He smiles and rests his hand on the guy’s back to steady himself, and you reach for it, holding his hand as the tug-o-war strategy plays out.

You and Justin control this guy’s every movement, and after a while, it’s weirdly like he’s not even there, like there’s no one between you, the Celtic music contributing to the zen feeling. You just look into his steady blue eyes, eventually admitting that, “I’m so not used to this,” and Justin knows you mean wearing a condom and not just fucking someone else in public, and says, “I know.”

You slap the kid’s thigh, and Justin pulls him off his cock and pushes his face down into the sofa while you finish him off. You pat the kid on the head when you’re done with him and say, “Thanks,” and then Justin’s finally within arm’s reach again, and you grab him and kiss him as the kid recovers alone on his end of the sofa. Justin pulls the condom off for you and looks for the nearest trash can.

“That was hot,” Justin says, “The whole room was watching us.”

You put your arms around him, your hands hanging on his hips and admit, “I was watching _you_.”

“Nobody knows us here,” Justin says, “Kind of nice, huh?”

“Yeah, if we were at home, I’d probably employ at least two percent of the population in here.”

“Exactly.”

"Hey, what about what you said? That no bottom in here would have a chance with me?"

Justin smiles, "That wasn't with _you_ ; that was with _us_."

“I want to get you back to the hotel,” you tell him.

“I’d like that.”

……  
……

The shower in your hotel room is a welcome transition. Quietly, you wash each other using the Iceberg scented body wash Justin lifted from the club. You fear your toiletry addiction is contagious. You expect to feel very conflicted about fucking someone else, but you don’t. You feel a little reciprocity guilt, though, which you express as you’re drying off, “We didn’t have to leave before you…got off,” you offer.

“I got off in a different way. I was ready to leave.” He turns off the light in the room and opens the curtains wide to let the lights of the city in. They make random streaks of yellow, pink, and blue on the white sheets. You’re both barely dry as your bodies are reintroduced to the bed. You forget everything but just being with him, against him, your damp skin reluctant to separate from his. He’s on his back, and you’re curled on your side when you fuck him, his feet resting on your thighs. You like this position because as the pleasure relaxes him, you can slide your finger inside him along with your cock. You tease him first, your arm snaked between his legs; your fingertip tracing the point of entrance. You bury your face in his neck, and beg him, whispering, “Please...you love this,” in his ear.

_"Brian,"_ he moans as the tip of your finger slips inside him; he digs his nails into your leg in some attempt to control the pace at which this happens.

“I’ll go slow; don't think about it; just enjoy it,” you promise as you very carefully let your finger disappear inside him. “Breathe,” you advise as you carefully move in and out of him; the closeness of your bodies allows you to really administer his experience. He turns his head and kisses you, confessing, "We haven't---"

"--done this in forever. I know." You can tease him in this position, and every time he gets close to orgasm, he kisses you until the feeling subsides. He finally comes when you let him, and quickly, you slide on top of him and fuck him, your hands holding his wrists above his head. He plants his feet in the sheets and rises up in involuntary protest, but you both know how this is going to happen – that you’ll force him back down and enjoy the ecstatic agony rippling through him because his orgasm is ending while yours is beginning.

He expects it; he wants it; he was born to be underneath you.

The after-fuck's some kind of chemical reaction that seems to seal your body to his for good. You stay inside him as he comes down, your hips periodically dipping up and down as you kiss him, spread your fingers through out his hair and tell him you love him.

"I love you," he says, "And that was one of the best fucks we've ever had."

You feel a proud warmth spread inside you outward from your heart, and you contrast the high you used to get fucking everything that moved with this feeling of truly satisfying him and wonder how in the world you ever found them comparable.

***********  
**JUSTIN'S POV**

Bliss like this should cost a pretty penny. Brian's body feels like an extension of yours, not a force trying to conquer you. What you wanted from this trip...you're actually getting. You smile as his head rests over your shoulder. You feel safe and comfortable as you ponder how to express what else you want. Brian interrupts your thoughts, his voice deep and partially muffled by the pillows, "We took more than our egos out on the town tonight."

"Yep."

"I didn't get off on fucking that guy as much as I got off on the way you were taking charge of the situation."

"I know," you say and you smile. Brian feels your facial expression change, and lifts up his head with a curious look on his face as he says, "You're up to something."

You've given some thought to how you would broach this bend in the road with Brian; you've rehearsed it in your head, and ultimately you decide on the extremely direct approach with your fingers metaphorically crossed as you tell him, "You're going to bottom for me for awhile."

Brian's eyebrow spikes and then he lies back down with his head next to yours again. "I am?" he asks.

You rub his upper back as the two of you talk, "You are. You need a change. You're working too hard at Kinnetik because you're understaffed, and you've done way too much for me in this area of our relationship. We need to balance it out a little."

"Wait. Did you just take me to that club for a last hurrah or something?"

"No," you answer honestly, "I didn't know what would happen." Brian's mind begins to spin, and you can almost see it flying like an unhinged carousel. "Stop questioning everything. I told you I'm not trying to bait or provoke you. I was completely honest with you, and I still am right up to this very second. You need to trust me." You feel a tension in Brian's back as he processes your conversation. "I give you my complete trust all the time, Brian. You can do the same for me."

His body relaxes, "I didn't want somebody else to fuck you, partly because you're mine, but also because you still have bruises on your ass."

"Yeah, I thought about that. I didn't want to freak someone out in that setting."

"How long have you wanted this?" Brian asks.

"I don’t know; I’ve just felt restless about something that I couldn’t explain, and after yesterday it became clearer to me. There's something going on with you. I think me wearing a hood last night had more of an effect on you than it did on me. You stopped playing a role and started indulging yourself."

"I did?"

"Yeah, it was very unexpected and it felt really, really good." And now, there's a humid stillness between you punctuated by intermittent affection: Brian kissing your neck, your jaw line. You tighten your hold on him, your hand sliding down the back of his head. "Brian?"

"Hmm?"

"I loved that feeling-you wanting me like that."

He nods against your neck as he grants, "I didn't plan that."

"I know."

The mechanics of sex detour the conversation for a moment. Brian pulls out of you and kisses your neck as he asks, "Want me to plug you?"

"Yeah."

He fills you with the toy and then pulls your back against his chest, placing one leg between yours to keep a little pressure on the plug. "Good?" he asks.

"Perfect, thanks."

"Okay, so, if I bottom for you, you stop bottoming for me?" he asks you.

"Not at all. This is about taking some pressure off of you, not denying you. I don't want you to feel this ridiculous need for Viagra when you don't fucking need it, and I don't want you to have to scheme and plan our sex life for awhile."

"Most of my scheming is a direct result of your incessant provocations," he tells you.

You admit, "I know that, and I've been a little selfish, too. I want to correct that."

Brian laughs a little in almost a relieved way, "Well...if you want to get really technical about this, this is empirical evidence that punishing you works--"

"Oh, shut up."

He gets a little animated, "No, I won't. I'm serious. I succeeded at this. I did it."

"You succeed at everything you do, Brian. Big whoop."

He still sounds annoying amazed, "I actually _corrected_ your behavior. Holy shit."

You know if you don't concede this point a bit, Brian will _never_ shut up about it. "Okay, okay. You're fucking brilliant. You know just how to work me over. You are a stellar example of everything a Dom should be."

"You bet your ass, I am." He flops on his back and slaps his palms on his chest, celebrating his accomplishment. It's obscene, but not unexpected. You keep going, massaging the hard on his ego is sprouting, "You have taken such good care of me that I can spend an entire day in subspace while you're at work. Our relationship has grown just because you took having me across your lap so seriously."

"Ha!"

"You've set a wonderful example, and I'm going to return the favor."

Brian's curiosity overpowers his jubilance, "In what way?"

You turn on your side, your fingertips tracing the muscles in his arm, "Starting Monday, I'm going to fuck you right when you come home from work."

"Excuse me?"

"And if you're late; if you're home even a minute later than five thirty, I'll fuck you twice."

"Whoa," he says, his eyes robo-scanning your face to see if you're serious. (You are.)

"And if you can get home on time and do a nice job bottoming for me, I'll reduce it the next week to _maybe_ only twice a week."

You can tell by the look on Brian's face that he finds this intriguing and terrifying at the same time. "What constitutes a 'nice job?'" he inquires.

"A positive attitude and a willingness to accept a different role.”

"Hmmm."

You lean forward and kiss his chest, "I'm messing with you a little, Brian. I just want you to enjoy it. I know how much pleasure I get, more than I can ever actually experience, and I want that for you."

Brian's tone is sober again, "I believe you. I've watched you grapple with having more pleasure than you know what to do with."

"It's such a weird and yet marvelous place to be."

"I'm sort of afraid of that," he admits to you.

"I know; it's why you hold on to control so tightly. You're afraid of pleasure you can't dominate."

Brian rolls on his side and looks at you very intensely, responding after a few beautifully delayed seconds, "Okay...that's actually sort of deep."

You put your hand on his face, hold him still and kiss him. "And with that, I'm going to sleep. I'm exhausted," you tell him as you roll away on your other side.

"Okay." His forehead presses against your shoulder blades, a signal that he, too, is tired. But just as you're about to drift off, he rolls away and gets out of bed.

"What are you doing?" you ask sleepily.

"Cigarette," he says, "I'll be right back. I promise."

***********  
**BRIAN'S POV**

Random drops of freezing rain fall on your long black wool coat as you stand in a bricked corner outside the hotel and light up. You stand and smoke, watching the randomness of New York city play out in front of you. You think about the last twenty-four hours with Justin, about his new ideas and these new experiences.

You think about your marriage as if it’s a product you have to sell, how twenty-four hours ago, you would've taken the direct, cliched approach: _keep it new, different, exciting!_ Now you feel like a champion for the nuanced approach to reinvention.

You don't remember starting your third cigarette.

Inside the lobby, you can tell someone's walking toward the front exit. The door opens, and Justin is coming toward you, a slight smile on his face. With your hand stuffed in the pocket, you open your coat as he approaches you; he slips inside, his arms around your waist. “I was texting you, and realized you’d left your phone in the room.”

“Guess I lost track of time.”

…...

Once you’re back in bed, you pick up your phone to clear the messages. Justin had sent you four texts:

‘ _come’_

_‘back’_

_‘to’_

_‘bed!’_


	13. Negotiations 11-12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #11 -Originally published 11/8/15  
> #12-Oringally published 1/11/16

**NEGOTIATIONS 11**

**BRIAN'S POV**  
  
On Saturday morning, Justin is warm and sleepy in your arms. You want him to wake up and want you, but can't bring yourself to alter his current state. You wonder if you should just let him sleep, but you can't seem to let go of him. _He'll get hungry eventually,_ you think. You can always count on that.  
  
You have a late breakfast with him at a little diner close to the hotel; the egg-white omelette you have is unbelievable. Justin eats pancakes with cream cheese inside them or something. You think it's a bit over-the-top, but he smiles at you and says, "Fuck it. I'm on vacation." You're a little jealous of how easily he can turn life's pressures on and off, but then you remember how hard you work to make sure he never really has any.  
  
"I'm assuming you want to go shopping," he says to you as he drains a second glass of orange juice.  
  
"Why do you assume that?"  
  
"Because you never do it anywhere but online anymore, and you clearly miss it."  
  
You tilt your head, "Okay, well...maybe. What do you want to do?"  
  
"Let's go get this shopping thing out of your system and maybe go to a museum later?"  
  
"Deal."  
  
By the third store, you finally get Justin to start shopping for himself. He's reluctant and uninterested, but then you tell him that, "I have the right to see you in something other than paint-crusted clothes on a daily basis."  
  
"I thought you liked me in my work clothes," he counters.  
  
"I do...but come on, they smell like turpentine."  
  
"I wash them!"  
  
"Come here," you say as you grab him and pull him over to a rack where you can hold a bunch of different shirts up to him. He objects, "Brian, this is stupid. I don't need clothes like this. I work from home."  
  
"Well, humor me and try them on."  
  
" _Uh_ ," he grunts and trudges off to the dressing room you commandeered when you first walked in. "You just like to spend money," he complains as he walks away.  
  
When you meet up with him in the dressing room, he looks amazing in the outfit he's tried on, but his arms are crossed, and he's clearly getting pissed off. You ignore his attitude, "Okay, that's a yes. Try the next one on." He huffs and puffs through the entire process but does it anyway. Almost everything you pick out looks fabulous on him, and your lap is filling up fast.  
  
"What is this about?" he asks as he takes off the last pair of pants. "Is this foreplay to you? Is that it?"  
  
"Hmm," you ponder, "Maybe. Give me those."  
  
"Brian, this makes me uncomfortable. It's nice that you want to do this, but they're just going to hang in my closet, and that makes me feel guilty. I'm not like you when it comes to excess."  
  
"They aren't just going to hang in your closet."  
  
"Well, I'm not going to ruin them in my studio. You can forget that."  
  
"You're going to wear them to work."  
  
"I just told you I'm _not_ ," he says adamantly.  
  
"I want you to come work for _me_ for four to six weeks."  
  
He stops changing and just stares at you, standing in a turtleneck sweater, underwear and black socks. "What?"  
  
"Justin, you said I'm understaffed, that I'm working too hard. You're right. Come help me for a few weeks."  
  
He picks his jeans up off the floor and starts putting them on, "Doing what?"  
  
"Helping me hire a couple of personal assistants."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Yeah. Everyone else is too overworked to help me, and you know me; you know what I like and what I can't stand."  
  
He's skeptical, "And that's all you want? Me to field applicants for you?"  
  
"Yep, and this is always your creative break, so spend it with me. I can't throw everything on Ted. I rely on his math being right."  
  
He smiles, "You want me around, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. I miss you at work. Let's change it up a little."  
  
Justin begins pulling every piece of clothing out of your lap one by one and giving each one a critical look, "So, I'm really gonna wear this stuff?"  
  
"I'd like you to. I want everyone to be envious of me."  
  
"They already are, Brian."  
  
"Well, I want to push them over the edge."  
  
"There's over fifteen hundred dollars worth of clothes here, Brian. This is obscene."  
  
"So what?" you tell him, "You're worth it."  
  
At checkout, arrangements are made to Fedex the clothes to your house at your expense. The two of you grab a quick lunch at a standing-only restaurant. Your portion size is too big, but you stand up to eat it, so you decide it balances out. You wander around the city for a bit, taking in a museum and a couple of art galleries that don't cater to Justin's sensibilities, but it's something different, and on your ride back to the hotel that afternoon, you're holding hands in the cab as you look out opposite windows.  
  
*********  
  
Back in your hotel room, your room has been reset: the bed is made, the towels are new, and there's a friendly reminder about tomorrow's checkout time--eleven a.m. Justin makes a weird face as he reads the card. "What's wrong?" you ask.  
  
"Well, I thought maybe we could get a late checkout and get a later flight, but I have to get all of those paintings organized for transport for Clive. My afternoon is full tomorrow, especially if I'm working with you this week."  
  
"I'll help you with them, and you don't have to start on Monday. You can start when you're ready."  
  
"Well, you said you need me...." he says as he walks into your arms, flirting effortlessly in the process.  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
"Well, if you need me, I want to be there for you. You didn't stop to smoke on the way in. Do you need to?"  
  
You shake your head, "No, I don't need to. I'm fine."  
  
Justin puts his arms around your neck. His kiss is sweet and inviting and open; he climbs up on his knees on the mattress; his fingers start to toy with the bottom edge of your shirt. "I thought, since I undressed for you about fifty times today, that, maybe, you'd undress for me," he says. You smile and pull your shirt over your head, tossing it onto a random chair. Justin leans in and kisses your chest, licks your nipple and whispers in a very svelte way, " _I wanna fuck you; let me fuck you."_ His hand descends into your jeans, slips inside your underwear as his verbal campaign continues, " _I'll do anything you want. I'll rim you; I'll finger you; I'll suck you until you're so relaxed, you just open up._ " The ball of his hand is sliding up and down your cock with purpose.  
  
Your jeans and underwear turn to liquid and melt away. "Will you lick my balls?," you hear yourself add to his list.  
  
"I'd be honored."  
  
You believe every word he says as your bodies succumb to the gravity of the moment and meet the mattress. You're kissing him and at the same time, peeling his clothes off. You want to feel his skin all over yours. When his clothes are finally a thing of the past, Justin props himself up on his elbow and gives you an expectant look; his eyes scan your face, your torso, your stomach, and then his head bows a little indicating that he's looking at his own cock. You reach down and touch him, grasping it, asking, "Is this for me?"  
  
"Every inch," he says, a sparkle in his smile.  
  
You groan and roll onto your stomach. Justin moves in closer, kisses you again, and then lets his lips move over your bicep to your shoulder, his hand skimming down your back and over your ass. "See how badly I want you?" he asks. You reach back and rub his hip as it slinks away from you, his body nesting between your legs.  
  
You forget everything but the warm pleasure flooding your pores as he asks, "You want this, don't you?" You can feel his breath between your legs.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Like you wanted me in the dungeon?"  
  
Your mind rolls back to two nights ago, to picturing his leather-covered head eating you; your fingers bunch in the sheets. "Yes." Just the pressure of his face against your ass sends a spike of aroused energy through you that you can barely contain.  
  
" _Get up,_ " he whispers.  
  
You moan as you slide your knees up a little, and Justin flips on his back beneath you and guides your body to a slightly more vertical angle so you can sit on his face. His arms snake around your thighs as his tongue dips inside you. Your head hangs down to watch; you feel dizzy. You feel his hands leave you for a few seconds, and when they're back, one is firm on your thigh while the other is wet and teasing you with shallow penetration. He guides your balls to his mouth and begins to lick them, to suck them, and then you feel his hand squeeze your thigh, the pressure urging you to take his fingers inside you.  
  
You lower yourself very slowly and watch his fingers disappear inside you. You close your eyes as you slide up and down, one hand bracing the headboard. "You feel perfect," Justin says, "Absolutely perfect," and you know that he means you feel relaxed, ready. He reaches up and touches your cock with a soft stroke. "Take your time," he tells you, "If you want to come, it's ok--"  
  
"No," you shake your head, "When you fuck me."  
  
He's kissing the inside of your thigh when he whispers, " _Okay._ "  
  
Minutes pass inside this pleasure capsule he's got you in, minutes of you reveling in the attention you're getting; sometimes you reach down and just touch the crown of his head. You want to fuck his face, but you know if you do, you won't be able to hold back; you'll pound his pretty complexion, break his cheekbones and empty down his throat. He almost reads your mind and starts to position himself to take your cock, but you stop him, "No, don't. I'll destroy your face if you do that."  
  
"All right, then stay where you are."  
  
His fingers slide out of you, and the mattress shifts as he gets up on his knees and positions himself behind you. "Sit," he says guiding your hips directly over his cock.  
  
" _Christ_ ," you say when you feel him, when he's kissing your back and pushing your ass down his dick, slowly but methodically. You shake a little when he goes really deep.  
  
"I can't move right now," you tell him.  
  
"That's okay. This is amazing." He continues the affectionate assault with his lips, making a concerted effort to stay as still as possible. "But if this is too much for you--" he cautions....  
  
"No, just... _shhh_."  
  
Your body balances on a strange pleasure point, caught between a feeling that this is too much and too perfect all at once. You look down at your cock, and decide that jerking off is the best way to keep you from over-thinking this. When you start, Justin's hands snake around you in a purposeful hug; he starts to pant into your back as he cautiously fucks you. Justin's voice is a vocal cure and you just concentrate on the rich, deep tone and try to forget everything else as you splash the headboard. The intersection of your bodies is slick and burning hot, and when Justin comes inside you, you're surprised you don't combust in the process.  
  
**********  
Justin becomes some type of sex ninja and ends up lying on top of you and inside you when it's over, his breathing haphazard, an aura of satisfaction clouding both of you. His hands urge you thighs to wrap around him. "Did you survive?" he asks, a little laughter in his voice.  
  
"No."  
  
"Aw, my poor baby."  
  
"Your cock is no joke, Sunshine."  
  
"I'm not pulling out," he tells you, "You can just lay here and bitch."  
  
"Maybe I will," you offer, "Maybe I will."  
  
"And what exactly would you be complaining about?" he wants to know.  
  
"I just told you; your cock is no joke."  
  
Justin adopts that tone he uses when he thinks you're being stupid, "Do you want to be in bed with a cock that is a joke?"  
  
You roll your eyes, "God, no. Of course not."  
  
Justin reminisces, "I can't remember the last time I fucked you twice in forty-eight hours...unless you were really drunk or high."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Sometimes when you're really high, you beg me to fuck you." He leans down and kisses you after he says this, a sweet, appreciative kiss.  
  
"I haven't done E in a long time."  
  
"Yeah, I miss it every now and then; you're so insatiable when you're rolling."  
  
"I can't do that shit and be on point at work the next day; I'm not a spring chicken anymore." You sigh, grab the remote and point it at the TV. His cat-like reflexes knock it out of your hand and onto the floor, "Don't you dare." He knows you're kidding but he gets instantly serious anyway, "Being inside you means something to me, Brian."  
  
"I know; it means something to me, too."  
  
Justin's brow furrows, "What do you mean when you say that?"  
  
Your brow furrows, "Huh?"  
  
"Do you mean that me being inside you matters to you or do you mean that you being inside me? Which did you mean?"  
  
You have to think for a few seconds, "Well, I meant being inside you, but both are true."  
  
"Okay," he says like he's settling for your answer, and that makes you feel bad, so you hold him tightly against your chest, your hands running up and down his back. "Mmm," he says in response.  
  
After a few minutes pass, you feel obligated to clarify, "Justin, you're the only person I've ever _wanted_ inside me. You know that, right?"  
  
"I figured."  
  
"Well, you don't have to do that. You can know it for a fact."  
  
You feel him smile against your chest, "Okay, okay."  
  
Your hands dip lower, the tips of your fingers skimming up and down the crevice in his perfect ass, "I didn't think about it, but I should've plugged you before you fucked me."  
  
"I thought about it," he says.  
  
"Why didn't you say anything?"  
  
"Because I wanted to concentrate on being inside you."  
  
"That's sweet," you concede, "But you did bring an army of sex toys with us."  
  
"I always pack for an apocalypse."  
  
You laugh at him, "Because god forbid the world end and you're without your favorite dildo."  
  
"Exactly. Priorities, Brian. You, of all people, should appreciate that."  
  
"Maybe this isn't the right time to say this, but I really need to fuck you later tonight," you admit.  
  
Justin begins to pull out of you and flops on his back beside you, "Oh, you will. Don't you worry." And then he rolls on his side, his hand resting on your ribs, "And I was thinking...maybe you could fuck me...while I'm fucking someone else…?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Can we go back to that club tonight? Maybe....?"  
  
This is the last thing you expected from him today, so you ask for clarification, "You want to get sandwiched? Is that what you're telling me?"  
  
"Yeah. Is that okay?"  
  
You think about it for a few seconds, your mind dusting off old calculations and experiences to reach a conclusion, "Can I make a suggestion?"  
  
"Sure," he says with a smile.  
  
"Let's hire someone and do it here."  
  
"Hmm," Justin says, "Why?"  
  
"Because I don't want to fuck you bareback in a sex club. It's not exactly kosher these days."  
  
"Oh, that's a good point. I didn't think about that."  
  
"You packed a lot of shit this weekend, but you didn't pack condoms did you?" you ask him.  
  
"No, I didn't think that far ahead."  
  
"Get my phone; let's find a third wheel."  
  
***********  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
You're at dinner a few hours later with Brian when the fruits of your search begin to respond. Brian slides next to you in the curved booth you're in and shows you the profile of each available and acceptable guy. "Rank them," Brian says, "And then I'll start confirming." Eventually, your second choice confirms, and he and Brian settle on a price. You take comfort in Brian's ease with this part of the process.  
  
"You know, we could easily find someone we wouldn't have to pay," you offer. "We're in New York City after all."  
  
Brian, ever the businessman, responds, "True, but this way, we're sure to get what we want, what you want. Trust me; I know what I'm doing. Plus, we don't want a troll."  
  
Well, you couldn't really argue with that.  
  
"Do you want to set rules?" you ask him.  
  
"Maybe 'preferences' instead of rules?" Brian counters.  
  
"Okay, since this was my idea, you go first."  
  
Brian taps his fingertips on the table a few times before he speaks, "I don't need to interact with him; this is for you."  
  
"You mean that you don't want to fuck him?"  
  
"Yeah," and then he pauses; his eyes flit away and then come back to your face, "Actually, I'd like to watch you with him, and when you're ready for me, I'll be there."  
  
"Really?" you question.  
  
Brian nods, draining his glass of wine, "Watching you take charge of some guy, that's hot to me."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Well, the night I took you to Release and that debacle ensued, I realized how much it does _not_ turn me on watching you be submissive to someone other than me, but last night at the club, the way you bossed that kid around...I kind of liked it."  
  
"It turns me on that you're admitting this stuff to me. Pour," you say, tilting your wine glass at him.  
  
"Well, good. How about what you want?" Brian asks as he pours the remainder of the bottle into your glass.  
  
"The idea of you watching me fuck somebody else is making me hard."  
  
Brian smiles and slides his hand over to your lap to see if you're telling the truth. When he confirms it, he says, "Go on; I'm listening."  
  
"Well, in my mind...and this is silly but...you're in your work clothes; you're wearing a tie even."  
  
"You want me to get dressed up to watch you fuck someone else? Is this a sexual fantasy or a fashion fetish?" he teases you.  
  
"We're fags; it's obviously both, duh." Brian laughs and then leans in and kisses you behind your ear. You continue, "I mean, I guess normally I'd feel a little guilty about this, but I've been such a good boy for you; I feel like I kind of deserve this." Brian growls in your ear...literally...and then begins digging his wallet out of his pants and signaling the waiter. After the transaction is done and as you're leaving the restaurant lobby, he pulls you into the restroom and into a stall. Before you can even get a few words out, he's kissing you hard and pressing your body into the tile wall. "Jesus, Brian," you finally breathe out.  
  
"I don't know what has gotten into you, Justin, but you're making me nuts," he says as he pushes your hand inside his jeans. You grab the back of his neck and kiss the shit out of him. His phone chimes while you're making out, so you pull it out of his pocket to check it. "Who is it?" you ask.  
  
"Our stud for hire. He had a last minute cancellation. Wants to know if we can do ten o'clock."  
  
"What time is it now?" Brian asks.  
  
"Eight thirty."  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
"We've got to go to the drugstore," you tell him; Brian agrees and adds, “And the ATM. This is strictly a cash transaction.”  
  
"And a liquor store, too," you add to the list. "We need some whiskey."  
  
**********  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
  
Never in a million years did you think you'd be in a New York hotel room on that Saturday night changing back into your Friday work clothes while Justin poured another shot of whiskey and stared out into the city from your large window. You mention a few things to him as you re-tie your tie, "You know, you can change your mind, if you need to." According to your phone, the escort would arrive in about twenty minutes.  
  
Justin looks back over his shoulder and smiles at you, "Not gonna change my mind."  
  
"Okay, well, you can also change the agenda. We're paying for him; you get what you want out of it."  
  
His fingers are curved around his whiskey glass; he strokes it like it's a dick or something and asks you, "Did you tell him what I want?"  
  
"I did."  
  
"And he's okay with that?"  
  
"He's okay with being any part of any sandwich or even just an appetizer."  
  
Justin laughs.  
  
There's a tiny part of you that feels like you should be battling insecurity in this moment as this is two nights in a row that Justin's decided to bring other people into your sex life. But you don't feel insecure at all. You feel calm and oddly in charge. You're fairly certain Justin's never hired an escort on his own, and if he's going to do something like this, you want to be there.  
  
Plus, his whole aura is just unbelievably confident and hot.  
  
 _I'll probably end up in therapy over this._  
  
After you're dressed, you come up behind him at the window and ask, "Do I look the way you want me to look?" He can see your reflection in the window; he nods and then compliments you, "This guy's is one lucky rent boy."  
  
"Where do you want me to sit?"  
  
Justin motions to the chair to his right, "In this chair, if it's okay with you."  
  
You wrap your arms around him, kiss the back of his neck, "Listen, if at any time during this you want to stop, just use your safe word."  
  
"Same for you," Justin says, now turned around in your arms, "Because if you feel weird about him or realize you don't like it, please stop it. I don't want to have a bad experience, and I don't want you to either."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Have you ever had a bad experience...when you've paid for it?" he asks you.  
  
You shake your head, "No, the worst I've had is someone who looked nothing like their profile."  
  
There's a stern three knocks on your hotel room door, and Justin jumps in surprise. You laugh at him, and point at the chair, "Just sit here and wait. I'll handle this part."  
  
************  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
It's at this moment as Brian is handling the visitor at your door that you feel a new level of affection for this man you married. He's done so much for you over the years, much of it never wanting any credit or acknowledgement, and now he's at the door handing a transaction with a very good looking guy who tells him his name is 'Clay' so _you_ can fuck him.  
  
There’s a bit of a snag as ‘Clay’ asks Brian to pay by credit card because he has one of those snazzy credit card readers on his phone, but Brian looks at him a little dumbfounded and replies, “I’m giving you _cash_.”  
  
“Yeah, don’t like to walk about with a lot of cash in this city, you know?” the guy says, though he pockets it anyway.  
  
Brian nods, “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind with future gigolos.”  
  
This guy Brian has paid...is too pretty. He looks like the high school quarterback; he's taller than you but shorter than Brian, decently tan, and built...wow. He has a bright white smile, dirty blond hair and a bit of a southern accent. You start to have an internal panic because you can't remember where you put the condoms, but then you see them on the night table and exhale.  
  
Brian walks over to you, and the guy hangs back, barely actually in the room. You stand up as Brian approaches and gush, "He's hot."  
  
Brian laughs and raises his eyebrows at you, "Only the best for you. He's all yours. I told him that you're in charge." You step out of the way so Brian can sit in the chair you were occupying. He gets comfortable, crosses his leg and does that thing with his hands where he twines his fingers together and then rests them on his knee. You forgot to calculate in how much pressure you'd feel with Brian watching you, but you try to forget about that because you don't want to freak out. Instead, you smile at the guy and motion, "You can come over here."  
  
Clay steps out of the shadows and into the room. "Hi," he says; he has actual manners.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"You two are married?" he asks you.  
  
"Very," you say.  
  
"Well, I like your rings. So many married guys refuse to wear rings, and I think it's nice when couples do." He sits down on the bed and just starts chatting with you like you're a long lost friend or something, "So, you've had threesomes before?"  
  
Your back is to Brian, "Um, yes. Tons, but it's been awhile...for both of us."  
  
Clay turns, bending his denim clad leg so he faces you, "Well, that's cool. I get that. I want you to know that I'm totally open to whatever you want, and you can set the pace."  
  
"You're very polite," you note. "Would you like a drink?" You point to the bottle of whiskey. Clay accepts, and as he drinks, he puts his hand on your upper arm and squeezes, "And you're awfully cute. I can see why he married you." You blush when he says this, and you hear Brian laugh a little, probably because he can see the redness sneaking up the back of your neck. "Can I undress for you?" he asks.  
  
You nod and Clay peels his shirt off; it's so tight, he has no other choice, and when you see his abs, you reach out and touch them. "Wow, your body," you say.  
  
"Could I help you get undressed?" he asks you.  
  
"I've got it," you say as you get up and start shedding your clothes. You can hear the ice cubes jiggling in Brian's glass of whiskey, and you get this weird inkling that you’re being graded or something. Clay stands and works his jeans off, and you look at him and think about Brian and all you can picture is: _I'm going to be the grilled cheese in this sandwich because I'm going to melt between them._ And then you picture yourself in a frying pan being flipped over and over. You turn, look at Brian, and then look back at Clay who's now lying on your hotel bed.  
  
This rent boy, he stares at your hand as it smoothes over his chest, as you smile at the definition you can feel. He leans forward to kiss you, and you hesitate for a second, and then you don't. You grab the back of his thickly haired head and pull him in. He's a pretty good kisser. When you pull away, you push him back and whisper, "Lie down and relax for a minute."  
  
"You're the boss," he says as his body flattens against the sheets.  
  
You roll to your other side because you want to see Brian more than you even want to touch this guy. Brian is smiling, his eyebrow piqued and holding. "I miss you," you tell him.  
  
"It's been less than five minutes," he says laughing at you.  
  
"I know that,” you say, rolling your eyes.  
  
Brian sits his empty glass on the window ledge and gives you one of his classic Brian Kinney know-it-all looks before he says, "Well, I miss you, too."  
  
"Aw," Clay says.  
  
You tell your purchase to, "Hush."  
  
**************  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
  
You've had dozens of threesomes or even-more-somes with Justin over the years, but none of them made you feel like you feel tonight. Maybe because you felt that oftentimes Justin was participating to humor you or because you were selfishly caught up in the pleasure you were going to get. But now that your relationship with Justin is solid and equal, you feel much freer inside. You hope he does, too. Instead of the particulars of your sex life being a constant negotiation, you're beginning to feel that each one of them is a gift you can bestow on one another.  
  
Justin has gotten lost in fucking this guy, and you're quiet as you watch them. You assumed that Justin would want this guy on all fours, but he doesn't. Instead, he's positioned himself beside and behind Clay, bringing Clay's body closer to you than Justin's is. At one point, Justin looks up over the escort's shoulder and points to the condoms, and you get up and hand him one. He thanks you, and a couple of minutes later, you're watching Justin push inside this guy; Clay's pushes his face into a pillow and moans. Justin has pressed his face into Clay's upper back as he fucks him, and you take this as your cue to get undressed.  
  
You think about Justin’s proposition of late, that you spend more time on a different side of your sexual relationship, and imagine that this guy is you. Your cock is in your hand as you walk to the far side of the bed and lie down behind Justin. You press against him so he can feel how aroused you are, and he moans, tilts his head backwards and kisses you. You run your hands all over his body, and when you lube your fingers and slip them between Justin's cheeks, he moans and says, " _Yes...please._ "  
  
"You've never done this before, have you?" you ask him quietly; you wonder why you didn't ask this before.  
  
"No."  
  
Your fingers press their way inside him, and you can already tell, "You're very, very tight."  
  
Justin stops moving; he gets very still, "Oh god."  
  
"Let me take over, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
Slowly, you fuck him with your fingers so he can get used to feeling this full. It's been almost two decades since you've been where Justin is right now, but it's a sensation you never forget. "It's going to feel like too much when I'm inside you; don't try to move, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
You warn Clay not to come before he's told as you line up to fuck Justin. Once you're inside him, Justin's back arches in pleasure. You kiss the back of his neck and whisper behind his ear, " _This is perfect. You're perfect._ "  
  
Justin's body becomes almost slick as he's sandwiched between you and the hunk for hire. His eyes are open and sometimes his head falls back and you can see the dark pools they've become. Anytime you feel like there's space growing between the three of you, you reign it back in, and the routine of this, the deepening in both directions, is wringing desire out of Justin like a dishcloth. He starts to murmur, his voice steadily becoming more audible, " _Brian, please, please, Brian, please._ "  
  
You start to move faster which is tricky, but once Clay gets in synch, Justin's upper body thrashes a little, and he starts to come. Clay can tell just from the sounds pouring out of Justin, and his hand moves quickly to his cock. You slap his thigh, and he winds up to finish himself off as you smash the three of you together, your hips snapping against Justin's ass while his body--now rendered practically noodle-like--bobs back and forth. Justin welcomes your orgasm, and thanks you repeatedly, breathlessly.  
  
The three of you lie there when it's over, and though you feel nothing but bliss flooding your body, you're organized enough to tap the guy on the shoulder and make it clear that it's okay for him to go. You supervise Justin pulling out of him, and make quick work of disposing of the rubber. Justin moans, turns around and curls up against you as Clay gets dressed.  
  
"That what you wanted?" you ask the warm barnacle attached to you.  
  
"That was amazing," he says which is pretty much the answer you wanted.  
  
"You guys take care," Clay says as he picks up his phone and turns the ringer back on. "If you're ever back in town--"  
  
Justin turns his head and in the way he was raised, says, "Nice to meet you."  
  
"Same here," he says, then he gives you a small wave and exits the room. The door clicks loudly, a slight echo from the hallway. You reach and turn off the only lamp lighting the room.  
  
In the darkness, in the silence, you lie there with Justin, smoothing your hand over his hair and down his exhausted body, up and down, over and over. As the minutes pass, you're struck by how close you feel to Justin at that very moment. He's quiet but touching you, bunching your skin in his hands like it’s made of clay and he’s now a sculptor. When his hand roams below your waist, he feels that your erection is still present and accounted for, and in the almost-darkness of that room, you see him smile widely. _"You took something while you were in that chair,"_ he whispers seductively.  
  
"Yep," you admit, "We had company.”  
  
He growls into your neck and rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. With purpose, he wraps his legs around you and squeezes. He guides you back inside him under no pretense of patience. The resulting interlude is warm, wet and affectionate. There’s no immediate end game, just a wave of arousal that keeps rising, cresting, and then falling between you, over and over. Justin is stuck to you everywhere he can be; you want to do this and watch this at the same time; you wish there was a mirror next to the bed.  
  
……  
  
And then he pants into your ear, “ _Flip me. You’ll come again._ ”  
  
It seems beyond effortless to get this done, and within seconds you’re staring at this ass, at his back, at his neck and shoulders as you grab his hips. You start to thrust, and he’s so exhausted, he can barely steady himself, so you grab a pillow and stuff it underneath his hips. He braces his hands against the headboard, the only resistance he has left as you fuck him, and the harder it gets, the less you’re able to understand anything he’s saying. There’s a physical chaos, an almost palpable presence in the room, as you take him; your hands an iron grip on his waist. When you corral your orgasm and get it nice and focused, Justin’s head hits the headboard, and he seems oblivious. You yank his body backward on the mattress before deflating on top of him.  
  
“I’m okay,” he says, “It didn’t hurt.”  
  
All you can manage in response is, “ _Jesus Christ.”_  
  
……  
  
When your bodies finally untangle, the pillow you crammed underneath him is stained with a small puddle of whatever was left inside him. “This is why it didn’t hurt,” you tell him, and he laughs and says, “I guess so.”  
  
You wrap your body around his, kiss the back of his neck and ponder…  
  
 _Wasn’t this supposed to be a business trip?_

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 12**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** Your Sunday goes as expected: the flight home, the unpacking, packaging your paintings and carrying them down the imposing staircase to the foyer. Brian’s nothing but helpful and thoughtful the entire day; he does most of the lifting and offers to pick up dinner from a bistro you like while you sort and organize all of the paperwork that will travel with each piece. Had you not already worked with Clive for years, you'd be a nervous wreck, but, thankfully, sending so many of your masterpieces on a journey at once doesn't make you anxious anymore.  
  
At dinner, Brian chastises you for eating your food so quickly. "It's not healthy," he reminds you.  
  
"I know; I'm just really tired all of a sudden," you admit. You make the wine Brian's poured for you disappear pretty quickly. “The last time we got take-out from this place, you made me eat it out of a bowl on the floor.”  
  
Brian smiles and rolls his eyes a bit as if he’s searching through his brain for the memory. “You’re certainly the best puppy I’ve ever had,” he snarks with a smile.  
  
“Well, I’m the cutest - by far,” you add causing Brian to raise an eyebrow in your direction.  
  
“You roll over like a champ, too.”  
  
Maybe the wine is going to your head, but you keep going, “I kept waiting for you to make me poop outside,” and then you crack up laughing for a few seconds before letting out a big burp.  
  
Brian pulls his lips in and then leans forward, putting a hand on your forearm, “Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want me to get your leash?”  
  
You start laughing again, but he’s almost dead serious, and yet, you can’t stop, “Yeah, hurry. I really gotta go.” Brian doesn’t even crack a smile; he just looks at you with an intensity that’s a little unnerving. Your laugh fades to a giggle and then just sort of peters out, echoing in your overly regal dining room. “Stop it,” you admonish him, “Stop looking at me that way.”  
  
“What way?” he asks.  
  
You have to think to answer him, “Like you’re waiting for somebody to pull a trigger so you can pounce on me.”  
  
Brian’s face softens; his gaze melts a little, and his activity turns domestic - cleaning up all of the take out boxes and various trash. You follow him in the kitchen because you don’t want to sit by yourself in the dining room. After Brian stuffs everything in the garbage, he washes his hands and then turns and sees you standing there. He seems intrigued by your presence, like it must mean something important, like this isn’t your house and your fucking kitchen. He looks at you like you’re a nosy dinner guest who can’t take a hint. “May I help you?” he says.  
  
You can’t think of anything else to say other than, "Wanna just watch Netflix and relax tonight?” And then you offer to do something because you feel like you should, “I can take the cans to the curb since it’s trash day tomorrow.” Brian shrugs and agrees.  
  
It doesn't dawn on you until you're back in the foyer that this binge watching cannot take place in your home theater because the entrance is covered with boxed paintings. "Brian, you're upstairs?" you call from the foyer.  
  
"Yep."  
  
When you enter your bedroom, you grin widely. Netflix is the only thing Brian has on; his bare chest emerging from the dark sheets. "I'm serious when I say I'm tired," you warn him, and he pretends to ignore you and focuses his attention on scanning through all of the possible shows. You sigh and start getting undressed, nudging your shoes off. Brian just folds the sheet back when you turn off the overhead light and slide into bed beside him. He watches you turn the fireplace on low, and as you discard that remote, he pulls you back against him. "What do you want to watch?" he asks.  
  
"Something dramatic, but no horror," you respond.  
  
"Okay, no chain saws, no massacres," Brian agrees.  
  
"Not in the mood for sci-fi."  
  
"Noted."  
  
"And nothing patently stupid."  
  
"Okay, all we're left with is porn." Brian gives up and tosses the remote so it lands right next to you. You grab it and start navigating to something called _Moving Art_ and choose the _Underwater_ program.  
  
“What’s this?” he asks.  
  
“It’s really cool. It’s literally moving art, just underwater photography with peaceful music.”  
  
“It’s less than half an hour long.”  
  
“You just replay it again if you want,” you say as you press the button to start the program. Brian seems interested as it starts, but it isn’t long before you’re enjoying the show while Brian’s enjoying you. He pushes your hair out of the way and makes a concerted effort to kiss every inch of the back of your neck. You try to lie still and just enjoy both methods of entertainment at once, but then Brian starts running his wide open hand up and down your torso, his fingers getting cheekily close to the base of your cock at the end of each pass. You sigh a little too much and flip in his arms; he looks a bit startled just for effect. And again, he's questioning, "May I help you?"  
  
"You are not even making an effort to watch this, Brian."  
  
"It's unbelievably beautiful, but then so are you, so I'm torn," he chides. He urges you on your back so he can cover his body with yours, and then he just stares at you the way you stare at a big piece of cheesecake before you eat it. The back of his hand rolls down your face. He kisses you, and your body is very okay with it while your mind is getting riled up. You stop him, holding him back a little, "What's going on? Are you freaking out because the tables turn tomorrow?"  
  
Brian looks perplexed, "Um, that's tomorrow. Tonight is tonight."  
  
"I think you don't know how to relax."  
  
"Maybe," Brian offers; he rolls off of you onto his back as he continues, "But don't lay there are tell me that that's all you want--to teach me how to relax."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
His face is turned toward you, and he's more serious than before, "Bottoming is bottoming. Submission is something else. Do you know what you want?"  
  
You feel a little feisty as you roll on your side, your free hand gesturing as you talk, "Do you always know what you want? _Did_ you know exactly what you wanted when--?"  
  
He interrupts you, turning on his side, "When I pulled you across my lap?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"I thought I did, but I was mostly just going with it. At first, all I thought about was how I was feeling when you wanted more, but then...I saw what was happening to _you_ and that became so much more important to me."  
  
The conversation takes a turn that neither of you bother to acknowledge when you ask him in a calmer tone, "What did you see in me?"  
  
Brian inches toward you, his hand brushes your arm, "Well, first, I saw another virginal opportunity, a chance to introduce you to something that you'd never experienced."  
  
"Okay and then what?"  
  
Brian takes his time before responding, "Well...I saw you take flight even though you were still over my knee, so the next day I googled it so I could understand what was happening, and I began to understand how your pain threshold could rise so fast--"  
  
Out of nowhere, your phone chimes loudly with a new text; the noise scares both of you. You roll away and grab it, mostly to turn the ringer off, but then you realize the message is from Clive so you roll on your stomach to read it. Brian sidles up right next to you; you can feel his breath on your face as he says, "Put that _fucking_ thing away."  
  
"Hang on one second. It's work, okay? I'm just confirming."  
  
Brian grunts displeasure and then kisses your shoulder. You finish your response and make sure he sees that you're turning the sound off. You cross your arms under your head and lay your head down to face him. He's stroking himself and staring down at his cock. A quick glance at the television and you see a huge shark swimming close to the camera. You decide that it and Brian are probably not that different, both carnivorous opportunists above all else. Brian looks up at you with pupils black with arousal, "I'm going to blindfold you."  
  
"Okay," you say softly as Brian reaches underneath his pillow and pulls out a long black silky scarf. He ties it around your head and guides your head back to its perch on your forearms. Without sight, you become acutely aware of Brian's breathing and his weight and position on the bed. The music from the documentary stops, and you hear the spit-click as Brian turns off the television. He's close again, whispering in your ear, "Don't do anything you're not told to do." His skin is warm as it aligns beside yours, and then you feel the singular pressure of one finger tip as it lands between your shoulder blades and begins a slow but purposeful descent down your back.  
  
Over and over, the journey repeats itself, a single fingertip down your back and back up again; Brian finally speaks as it stops at the base of your neck. " _Don't_ ," is all he says...at first. You feel the pressure again and this time, the fingertip goes lower and lower until it acknowledges the cleft between your cheeks. Again it stops and Brian speaks, "Spread your legs." You smile, moan, and start to oblige him, but you're stopped with a vicious slap to your ass and an admonishment, "Learn to listen, Justin." The pressure point moves back to your neck, and the entire routine begins again, earning you two more hard slaps this time for the same infraction. You're aroused and confused, and then you realize that it's a complete sentence, " _Don't...spread your legs._ " Every time the sentence ends, you stifle a moan of displeasure. No ropes, no cuffs, and yet, he's immobilized you.  
  
And still, it continues at least ten more times, and you want to scream every time he tells you what not to do. Your body starts to hump the comforter in frustration, and Brian presses a full palm on your bottom, "Stop that."  
  
This is torture; you can't even whine with your eyes because you can't fucking see him.  
  
Brian moves in closer, his leg pinning you down as he whispers in your ear, " _I need to spank you tonight. You need to be punished."_  
  
You want to grow six more arms and grab him with all of them, but you lie still and break only one rule--speaking--as you ask, "For what?"  
  
Brian laughs a little deep in his throat, and again, you can feel his breath on your face, "That information will only be disclosed when you're across my lap."  
  
By withholding this information, Brian knows he's motivating you, and as soon as you make an attempt to get up, he does as well and helps you in your blind state to get positioned correctly over his lap. A warm, liquid pleasure overcomes you every time you're here; it has the ability to make you drunk in mere minutes if you don't try to fight it. "I want to know the reason," you tell him.  
  
"In due time. Just relax."  
  
The next thing you feel are Brian's hands very slick on your body as a scent you recognize begins to circle around you. It's that massage oil from the sex club. _Iceberg._ You moan as he touches you, first lightly like he's getting to know you, and then his hands are heavy and everywhere. "Spread your legs," he says, and you resist at first but Brian doesn't even scold you; he just reapplies the oil and slides his thumb down your crack, his touch making it impossible for you to do anything but what he wants. The intimate massage goes on and on; it travels down your legs, between them and even to your feet and between your toes; sometimes Brian pays attention to your shoulders and upper back without ever taking a hand off your backside. Your cock gets heavier and heavier, and eventually you can't keep it from resting on Brian's legs, and when he feels your arousal there, he praises you, "Good boy."  
  
You moan his name because the whole experience is becoming overwhelming, " _Brian._ " You try to position your dick so that it can slip between his thighs because you're afraid to touch yourself in front of him. Surprisingly, he lets you get away with this little maneuver for a minute or so, so long that you start to wonder if you can come like this, and then out of nowhere something buzzes and stings the fuck out of the spot where your ass meets your leg; you scream out in pain. Brian rubs the spot and urges you to, "Shhh." You're recovering from the pain, trying to figure out what happened, when you feel it again on the other cheek. This time you yell, "Fuck!" and jerk away from him, but Brian yanks you back and holds you firm.  
  
"Do that again, Justin, and we'll start all over."  
  
"Why am I being punished?" you ask, your eyes searching the blackness behind the blindfold like there's an answer there.  
  
"Because you took me on a business trip with you just to show me what a well-rounded little whore you are." You have no clue what to say to this and your silence seems to elicit sympathy from Brian, "I know you can't control your slutty tendencies; that's why you have me to help you."  
  
“My slutty tendencies?” you ask, although you probably shouldn’t. “Is this a lesson in irony?”  
  
"Oh, you’re such a clever little twat. Are you going to hold still for me now?" he asks you, his hand passing over your forehead like you're a child in bed with a fever.  
  
You swallow, "Yes, sir."  
  
"Good, because if you don't, the next time you feel that sting will be somewhere you absolutely won't want it." His hand is cupping your balls as he says this; he raises you up so your cock can't sneak a little friction between his legs anymore. "See what a slut you are?"  
  
You get this game now; you play along, "Yes."  
  
You gather the bedspread in your clenched fingers as Brian begins running his hands all over you again; anytime he stops for a second, you freeze and wait for the burn. The telltale zap goes off, but there's no shock with it, instead, it’s just the beginning of a long and erotic spanking--one that involves a long run of Brian's hand showing no mercy in an overly tender spot. As the minutes pass, you feel a delicious shame co-mingling with a sensation that the pain is over-powering the pleasure, that the soreness is almost too much. You feel Brian tugging at your blindfold and you tug back which earns you a, "Stop that," as he pulls the scarf away. He says nothing as he runs a finger under your wet eye, an acknowledgement that you're in too much pain. "You're okay," he says, "I'm going to fuck you until you don't feel that anymore."  
  
Your body doesn't have to move, only Brian's does, and he's fast getting behind you. "Reach back and show me where you need my cock," he tells you. You balance yourself on your forehead as you reach back and spread your bottom open for him and moan when he teases you with a kiss and a tender pass of his tongue.  
  
The fuck that follows is nothing like that.  
  
It's rough, almost brutal. It's one sided and punctuated with Brian's grunts and dirty talk, and then you feel something weird, something wicked with another buzzing sound. It doesn't take you long to realize Brian's wearing a vibrating cock ring. Every time he pushes inside you, he holds you deep so you can feel it. It's amazing--the sensation makes you feel like your orgasm is running up ahead of you, and every time you breathe out, "I'm gonna come; I'm coming," Brian laughs and starts pounding you again. His denial feels cruel after several rounds, and you start to beg him, "Please...let me come. You can fuck me all you want, just let me come."  
  
It turns out to be a masochistic request on your part, and one that Brian grants because he knows you'll regret it. Feeling the vibration _after_ your orgasm is ten times worse, and Brian knows it; he can feel your body tightening up. He slaps your ass and tells you to repeat the words, "I'm a whore," over and over again to, “Distract yourself.”  
  
You do as he says and the words become a rhythmic chant that coincide with every deep dive Brian’s cock takes. Brian's whole body twists when he comes inside you, and yours follows suit because you've essentially become overcooked pasta at this point. He collapses on your back mumbling moist words behind your ear, "God, you little whore, you little cock-hungry piece of ass. That was fucking amazing...Jesus."  
  
You’re exhausted and half panting when you ask him, “Me being a ‘whore,’ this is a good thing?”  
  
He knows you’re half-teasing when he answers, “It’s fantastic. Don’t change a thing.”  
  
Moments later, the cock ring is set free and lands beside your hand. You pick it up to feel it because it's still buzzing. You examine it and ask, "Where'd you get this, Brian?"  
  
"At the drugstore in New York when we were buying condoms."  
  
"Ah," you sigh, "So it's a souvenir."  
  
Brian holds you close so he can stay inside you as he rolls the two of you on your sides. "I suppose so."  
  
"So, I'm the whore in this scenario when you were the one buying a pink glittery vibrating cock ring in secret at the Duane Reed?"  
  
Brian laughs, and you like it because you can feel the gesture in your body, too. "In my defense, it was the only color they had."  
  
"Okay, well, in your _offense_ , I'm pretty sure this was made and marketed to straight men and their whore girlfriends."  
  
"Oh, it definitely was, but you're a little effeminate, so I think it's okay, and it was on clearance for two dollars, so you should like it.”  
  
“I love how you encourage me to be a whore and are offended when I’m also thrifty.” The cock ring putters out and dies in your hand. “Well, you got your two dollars worth,” you tell Brian.  
  
"If it's a crime to know what helps you bust a nut, then lock me up and throw away the key," Brian declares.  
  
You turn to look at him, your tongue poking in your cheek, “Be careful what you wish for, Brian Kinney. Tomorrow isn’t that far away.”


	14. Negotiations 13-15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I stated at the beginning of this, this story's a writing experiment for me, so here's the part of the experiment where I switch to first person POV for a chapter and then back to second.  
> #13-Originally published 1/22/16  
> First person POV  
> #14-Originally published 2/13/16  
> #15-Originally published 3/5/16

**NEGOTIATIONS 13**

**JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
I've been spending a significant amount of time wondering what turning the tables would really mean for me and for Brian, even if it's only for a week. I think about it, and my thoughts become soaked with a need to really please him--only no longer from a submissive frame of mind. It's tricky for me to stay out of that mindset for a prolonged period of time, partly because of the nature of my relationship with Brian (the age difference, the initial experience deferential) and partly because I really enjoy that role with him. He's way too good at being the other side of the coin.  
  
I worry that I won't be.  
  
But I make myself push that inkling to the back of my mind and slam it behind a heavy door.  
  
This Monday morning, he's standing in the bathroom shaving. He knows that I'm watching him--I have the free-standing full length mirror in our bedroom tilted at exactly the right angle to watch him primp before work. He takes his towel off because he knows I'm watching him. Sex is never more than two rows back in Brian's head. And if his towel is off when he comes out, he'll come sit next to me for a few minutes and do his stealth flirt and fondle routine. He starts by looking deeply into my eyes, his thumb resting on my jawbone. Then he leans down to kiss me, and that's when I tell him, "I'm hard."  
  
"You were watching me, so duh," he says right before his lips merge with mine.  
  
"I need you to blow me," I hear myself say.  
  
He actually scowls (just a little), "I just brushed my teeth."  
  
"Good, then it'll tingle," I tell him. He shakes his head at me like I'm too much to handle, and I have to worm my way out of his arms because he's trying to get my face closer to _his_ cock. We don't even talk or really look at each other; we just wrestle in slow motion. I can hear his phone going off on the nightstand while we execute this weird dance: texts and voice mails rolling in, reminders popping up. It's a typical Monday. I'm in as much shock as he his when I realize that I've somehow pushed him off the bed and onto the floor on his knees. I'm sitting in front of his face; my legs spread wide open. I retract a huge smile that was about to sprout from my lips and instead, focus on holding my cock out for him. Brian rolls his eyes ever-so-slightly as he leans forward and starts kissing and licking my dick. I lean back on my hands and watch as he pulls my cock straight up so he can run his tongue all the way down to the base and then takes my balls in his mouth. He's feral like this and acting out; he lets me feel his teeth--just barely. And then...he just goes for it. He brings his hands up under my thighs and tilts me backwards, sniffing me like a wild animal, lapping at my asshole. I can feel the raw strength he harbors, and I want to let him take me. I want to fall back, hike my knees up to my ears and let him eat me, finger me, get me off....and he's rising up and coming after me...rabid yet clean shaven.  
  
He wants to fuck me.  
  
And I want him to fuck me.... _hard._  
  
......  
  
But he's not going to fuck me on his terms.  
  
Not today.  
  
Some secret power inside me helps me reverse our bodies' last movements, run them backwards until he's back on his knees with my dick parked in his mouth; he's growling, low and deep as I fuck his face. He's cheats when my breathing gets more intense and slips a finger inside me, massaging me as I come down his throat. And when I'm in that heady after-orgasm state, he climbs up, pushes me down so he's on all fours above me, and just kisses me; it's long and wet and meant to be a message: he wants me to taste myself; he wants me to know that he was seconds away from being inside me.  
  
Message received.  
  
I plant my hands on his shoulders and hold him back, "Go wash your face. You're going to hit that traffic you hate."  
  
And then like the reset button's been activated, he's back standing nude in the bathroom, staring in the mirror washing his face and his hands. He's erect and doing his best to ignore it. I watch the rest of his routine in silence, rolling around in the sheets to maintain the best view of his every move. When he's done, impeccably dressed and smelling like he should be, he comes back, this time to my side of the bed, sits down and just stares at me like I'm a species he doesn't quite recognize.  
  
"I'll miss you today," I say because it's true.  
  
"Me, too," he says.  
  
"I'd prefer it if you'd wear the tie I gave you instead of this one," I tell him, flicking the material. "Mine looks better."  
  
He gives me _that's quite enough_ look, sighs and goes into his closet to change it. "I've gotta go," he says from the doorway, his silhouette revealing that he's still hard.  
  
"Don't get road rage," I warn him after I glance at the clock, "And don't touch yourself either."  
  
He looks mildly frustrated and tells the hallway, "See? I knew.... I told you--"  
  
"At all, Brian. Not in the car, not in your bathroom, nothing at all until I see you tonight."  
  
"Just throw me in the deep end," he mutters to himself with a grand gesture, again to the hallway and not to me.  
  
"You'll be okay," I reassure him, "You can swim."  
  
"It's more like treading water."  
  
"I love you. Go to work and remember, five thirty, no later." I roll away and bury myself under the covers so he'll actually get out of the doorway and out of our house. He slams the front door a couple of minutes later. I smile in my warm cocoon because he normally leaves for work through the kitchen. That little detour and subsequent mini-tantrum was strictly for my benefit.  
  
Clearly, there's work to be done here.  
  
......  
  
Even after I’ve showered, dressed, sent my paintings off with a smelly truck driver and am making an early lunch for myself, I know that I’m still flying blind on this. I didn’t plan what just happened between us; I just let it play out moment to moment. And for the most part, I think that’s okay for now. One step at a time and all that.  
  
And then the mail comes and everything changes.

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 14**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
**  
The entire day something feels off; not necessarily bad, just as if you can't wed yourself to a goal, can't decide what you want to accomplish. But as you routinely do, you sweep those loose ends to a corner in your mind's attic and try to refocus on the next obligation.  
  
You're ten minutes late getting home.  
  
It's unavoidable; it's traffic and weather and the human condition, but you're prepared to apologize anyway even though you'd warned Justin of the delay via text on the ride home. He looks very nice when you come inside, like he just got home from a meeting or something. He smiles at you, kisses you, takes your coat. "Are you hungry?" he asks when he returns to the kitchen.  
  
"Yeah. I had a ridiculously unproductive day; I barely ate at all."  
  
"I made the pork chops you like with that chutney. Sit down." You sit in your usual spot at the head of the table in the kitchen; Justin sits to your right as always. You smile at him; the meal is perfect. "I'll be there tomorrow, so I can help you. We'll get it figured out, Brian." You feel only appreciation at his declaration. You know you need help; he knows. You trust him.  
  
"Did your paintings get picked up on time?" you ask him as a stray piece of potato falls off your fork. You catch it before it hits your shirt.  
  
"Yes, by the sourest smelling guy I've ever come across."  
  
"He's probably an alcoholic," you say, and Justin gives you a quizzical look, so you clarify, "My Dad used to stink like that when I was a kid. It was the liquor seeping out of his pores."  
  
"Didn't your Dad know how to shower?"  
  
"Didn't matter; he still smelled even when he was 'sober.'"  
  
"Gross. I didn't cook these potatoes enough--"  
  
"I think they're fine. It's delicious."  
  
"Thanks," Justin says, "So your day was shit?"  
  
"Yeah, please don't make me explain."  
  
"No, it's just..so was mine," and then you see that he's pointing to a few papers, some form sitting on an empty placemat, "I need our lawyer's number."  
  
"Why, what's that?"  
  
Justin hands you the form, and as you're reading it, he says, "I got a speeding ticket."  
  
"Today?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"On the highway."  
  
"Why? Was there a fire sale on art supplies or something?"  
  
Justin cuts his eyes at your sarcasm and hands you the rest of the papers, including a white envelope. You feel confused as you look inside. There's a short typed letter inside and torn up check...  
  
... for a thousand dollars.  
  
You freeze for a moment, your mind trying to organize this information. Justin's plate is empty and pushed aside; his elbows rest on this placemat, his chin cradled in his fingers. You turn the envelope over and see that it's from Release, Inc. "I'm a little confused," you say with caution in your voice.  
  
"That makes two of us," Justin says, his tone annoyingly calm.  
  
"I mean...okay...the speeding ticket? I don't understand." You lay the papers back on the table and go back to finishing your food, hoping that maybe this subject can just do you a little favor and vanish right now, but no such luck.  
  
"I got that letter in the mail today," Justin tells you, each word deliberate.  
  
"But the ticket--"  
  
"I got the ticket after I got the letter. I was...," he pauses to compose himself, "I was very determined to go to Release and get an explanation."  
  
"You got pulled," you say flatly.  
  
"Yes," and now he's a prosecutor laying out a case for a jury, "And you can imagine that when the cop stopped me and asked me where I was going in such a hurry--"  
  
"You--"  
  
"Let me finish," Justin says, "I couldn't quite bring myself to tell him that I was on my way to a professional sex dungeon to find out why the fuck they charged me a thousand dollars to get off their slave roster when apparently it costs absolutely nothing to get off that list.”  
  
You realize now that's why he's dressed the way he is; he wanted to appear professional. You attempt a distraction, "You want me to do the dishes for you? I'll clean up the whole kitchen." You try to stand up, but Justin puts his hand on your forearm and squeezes. You sit right back down and concede that it can probably wait.  
  
Justin continues, "So as the officer was writing up my ticket and making sure that there were no outstanding warrants out for my arrest for sodomy and what not, I called Dave and asked him what the fuck is going on."  
  
"Right."  
  
"And he tells me that he can't tell me, or rather, doesn't feel _comfortable_ telling me anything more than the fact that they're returning my check because they couldn't bring themselves to cash it."  
  
"Okay."  
  
.....  
  
"You owe me an explanation, Brian."  
  
"Did you make anything for dessert?" you ask.  
  
"Not for you," Justin plainly says, his blue eyes not shying away from your face.  
  
You give it a few seconds of thought, and decide that perhaps your best defense is not to have one, "I don't think there's anything I can say that will improve the situation."  
  
"So, you're taking the fifth, then?" Justin asks you as he gets up and starts clearing the table.  
  
You sigh, "Yes, I guess I am."  
  
Justin stands beside you, his hand wrapped around the back of your chair, "Okay, I figured that's what you'd do, so here's what's going to happen next: first, you're going to find my diamond studded collar and you're going to put it back in the box in my nightstand where it was--"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Second, you're going to go upstairs, get completely undressed, put on what I laid out for you, leave your phone and come back downstairs."  
  
"Okay," and then again you throw out an offer, an olive branch, launched like a drunk dart in a bar game, “Are you sure you don't want me to clean up the kitchen? I don't mind."  
  
"I do not need your help with anything, trust me."  
  
You walk out of the kitchen looking a little more apprehensive than you want to appear and take the steps two at a time to the upper floor. You unlock a safe in your office and remove Justin's diamond collar so you can put it back from whence you stole it. You find the box and re-tie the bow exactly as it was. You undress and sort your dirty clothes like you're supposed to, and as you're hanging up the tie you wore, you flashback to whose decision that was early this morning.  
  
The only thing lying on your bed is a large black gift box with a huge burgundy bow on it. You walk over and take the lid off and reveal an Armani bathrobe made of plush black terrycloth. You put it on and smile. Maybe it's not such a bad idea for Justin to dress you now and then.  
 **  
************** **  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** A few hours prior to Brian coming home from work, you were sitting in your car in your garage while you heartbeat boomed in your ears. You were angry and frustrated and unable to make yourself just calm down and go back in the house. Instead, you made the second phone call of that day to Release, Inc. and tried to keep your emotions from bleeding through your voice. Dave, the manager, answered just as he had about thirty minutes ago, and as soon as you began to speak, he was ready:  
  
 _"Justin,"_ he said, _"I understand your frustration; I truly do, but I told you everything I can tell you when you called before. I don't want to be yelled ag--"_  
  
"I'm calling to apologize," you said, "Truly. I was out of line."  
  
 _"Okay, well, I accept your apology. I don't know what else I can do for you at this point."_  
  
"I had just gotten a speeding ticket on my way to see you; I took out my anger on you, and I shouldn't have."  
  
 _"Okay, again, apology accepted. What else can I do for you? I have a business to run."_  
  
"Can I just talk to you? I have some questions," you tried.  
  
Dave sounded exasperated, _"I won't tell you anything more than what I told you before. So, again, I have a bus--"_  
  
"Dave, not those kind of questions. I know that I've been a complete pain in your ass since Brian brought me there. I'm truly sorry for that. It's not your job to fix flare ups between me and Brian."  
  
 _"Thank you for understanding that."_  
  
"And I want to be clear, Brian _adores_ having you guys as a client. I don't want anything I've done to affect that relationship."  
  
 _"Of course not. We need him; he's doubled our client base in just a few months. I can pay myself a living wage because of him."_  
  
"I feel really, really embarrassed at this point because I don't think any of my issues had anything to do with Release specifically, and I think I was too...I don't know...too dumb to understand that."  
  
 _"You are anything but dumb, Justin. Trust me."_  
  
"The first time Brian brought me there, right before he brought me in to observe, he gave me a very expensive diamond studded collar--"  
  
 _"Oh, I remember. We all remember."_  
  
"And I think I felt obligated to do what he wanted because he gave me that, and I didn't feel like I--"  
  
 _"Like you had the right to say, 'No?'"_  
  
"Sort of. And not necessarily a hard 'no,' but--"  
  
 _"You felt there were implied expectations."_  
  
"Right. Of course, I mean that those were _my_ assumptions. Brian would never force me to do anything."  
  
 _"Can I take a minute and just give you a little information, Justin?"_  
  
"Sure. Please."  
  
Dave sighed before he began, _"And I want to preface this by saying that I'm speaking generally, not necessarily about you and Brian. Do you understand that?"_  
  
"Of course, and this stays between us. Promise me you won't mention anything about this to Brian."  
  
Another sigh, _"Of course not. In a normal--and I don't mean that you two are 'abnormal when I say this--but in a normal Master/slave relationship, there are clearly outlined rules and limits--"_  
  
"He read me the rules that day."  
  
 _"No, I don't mean our rules. I mean rules between the Master and slave or whatever. These are clearly ironed out before play begins. I sort of suspected when I saw you two together, that that probably hadn't actually happened--"_ You started to object, and Dave stopped you, _"Please, let me finish first. You seem very defensive about this, so I'm going to put it another way."_  
  
"Okay; I'm sorry."  
  
A deep exhale came before he spoke, _"I'm not sure you're a slave, Justin."_  
  
"Well, just because I don't want my name in an official slave registry--"  
  
 _"See? You're very defensive. I'm not trying to attack you; I'm trying to explain that there's a difference between being a slave and being submissive, for one thing. And two, there are as many versions of submission as there are stars in the sky. For instance, here we concentrate on a few of the most popular dynamics like power play, age play, fetish roles, etc., but there are many people who come here and use our services who don't fall into any of those slots perfectly. Submission is a choice, and I've never met a true submissive who didn't have a helluva lot of power in his or her relationship, or for that matter, a true Dominant who didn't protect the hell out of their submissive."_  
  
"Brian is very protective of me. And maybe that sounds defensive too, but I don't mean it that way." This whole concept was getting annoyingly confusing.  
  
 _"I don't doubt that he is, and I've seen it firsthand, however, he probably should've foreseen the problem with your experience that day."_  
  
"Brian said _I_ did something wrong, that I fucked up the whole thing."  
  
 _"Well,"_ Dave said, _"You did, but honestly, I take a lot of the blame for that day. When you came out and asked me how to participate, I should've made you wait while I found Brian and brought him out. Sometimes I'm in 'Master' mode myself when I need to be in an administrative mindset. I should've stopped you; Brian should've, and the other Masters in the room should've as well. We all failed you that day, and I am truly sorry for that."_ You felt a huge sense of relief wash over you when Dave said this to you; you felt yourself getting emotional and unable to respond. _"Justin, you still there?"_  
  
"Yes," you sort of croaked, "I'm here."  
  
 _"Clearly, I've upset you. You're not driving right now, are you?"_  
  
"No, I'm home in the garage."  
  
 _"See, this is why this stuff is tricky. You shouldn't be alone right now, and now, I feel responsible for you."_  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
 _"You don't need to be sorry. You don't have the car running in a closed garage or anything, right?"_  
  
You laughed, "I'm not suicidal. Jesus, Dave."  
  
 _"Look, I don't know you that well. I almost wish you'd made it here to go off on me so I could've talked to you in person."_  
  
You gathered your wits, wiped your face on your sweater, "I'm not a mental case. I'm just...confused, I guess."  
  
 _"Of course, you are; you're new to this."_  
  
"Brian does not try to hurt me; he tries to give me what I want."  
  
 _"I'm sure he does. Have you told him what you want?"_  
  
"Sort of, but that doesn't really matter because we're switching roles this week."  
  
There was a distinct pause, a longer-than-expected silence before Dave spoke, _"Ah, okay. Good for you. Good for both of you, actually."_  
  
"Well, if I sort of suck at being a slave--"  
  
 _"Submissive,"_ Dave corrected you, _"And you do not suck."_  
  
"Well, if I have all these mixed feelings about being submissive, how the hell can I be dominant with him? I tried this morning, and I just felt weird afterwards."  
  
 _"Hang on a minute, Justin."_ In the background, you can hear Dave talking to someone, a woman maybe; he was giving instructions about things that needed to be done. You began to feel guilty for taking this much of his time. When he came back to the phone, you told him, "You should've kept my thousand dollars. You've earned it, Dave."  
  
 _"Nonsense. Listen, I understand, and quite frankly, I'm glad, that you have questions and concerns. Playing with power is not a trivial thing. Not at all. And it never means the same thing to different people, and it shouldn't. Every D/s couple has their own version, and that's how it should be. For many people, their desire comes strictly from the role itself; they may be a dominant to many submissives or vice versa. Some people have 'arrangements,' some have official contracts, some people have actual relationships. Have you ever wanted to be submissive with anyone but Brian?"_  
  
"No, never."  
  
 _"Has he wanted a submissive other than you? Do you know?"_  
  
"That's hard to answer because he has a dominant personality; many guys have been submissive to him or with him. Hell, I've seen it with my own eyes."  
  
 _"You mean casually, right?"_  
  
"Yeah."  
  
 _"That's not the same thing. Has he ever--with another guy--put in as much work as he does with you?"_  
  
You laughed, "No. Brian lets other people do the work."  
  
 _"Didn't he put a dungeon into your house for you?"_  
  
"Yes, he did."  
  
 _"Did he let you help with the design, or was it all his idea?"_  
  
"His. He completely surprised me. I don't even know how he pulled it off except that he took advantage of anytime I wasn't or we weren't at the house. But he does stuff like that all the time. If I randomly see a car I like on television or something, it'll be sitting in our driveway within twenty-four hours."  
  
 _"He takes very good care of you."_  
  
"Ridiculously."  
  
 _"Has he ever asked you about limits?"_  
  
"Yes, several times."  
  
 _"Have you given him any? You don't need to give me specifics."_  
  
"Not exactly. I have a hard time expressing myself in that area."  
  
 _"It's your job as a submissive to set limits. I won't play with anyone who doesn't know their limits. I wouldn't do it casually, and I sure as hell wouldn't do it with my life partner. It's a huge risk to do that."_  
  
"And yet, because he wants to please me, Brian does it anyway. I mean, he took classes and everything."  
  
 _"Brian is a born risk-taker and a bit of a perfectionist. It's probably why he's so good at his regular job."_  
  
"It is," you confirmed.  
  
 _"So if you're switching roles, you need to know who you're playing with. You need to understand his propensity to take risks and weigh it against everything you've learned about yourselves since you started down this road. And I will caution you, Justin, that if he's willing to take such big risks and make such gigantic gestures to please you when the roles are reversed, you need to tread carefully with him. He will be impulsive and vulnerable; he will walk blindfolded on a high wire to please you."_  
  
"He'll submit to anything, you mean?"  
  
 _"Right. That's just my opinion and take it as such."_  
  
"I have to protect him from himself."  
  
 _"Probably, yes."_  
  
You began to gather your things in the car and concluded your conversation, "Dave, thank you for talking to me and for putting up with me. I am so sorry for the drama I've caused."  
  
 _"You keep life very interesting, Justin. I'm sure that's part of why Brian's attraced to you."_  
  
"He doesn't like to be bored," you offer.  
  
 _"Correct. Keep that in mind as well."_  
  
"Thanks. I have a lot to think about. I'll let you go."  
  
 _"Goodbye and good luck, Justin."_  
  
"Thanks, bye."  
  
It was three fifteen when you got out of your car and went back into your house. You hadn't heard a peep from Brian all day, and that concerned you a little. You pulled out your favorite cookbook, flipped to a recipe and started making a short grocery list on your phone. As you got back in the car to head to the store, you stopped at the end of the driveway and sent Brian a text:  
  
 _I love you. Hope you're having a good day. :)_  
  
He responded when you were sitting at a stoplight,  
  
 _Same & no comment._

~♥~

**NEGOTIATIONS 15**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** Brian's smiling, his hand stuffed in the pockets of his new robe as he descends the stairs. You're waiting for him in the foyer. "Thank you for this," he says when he gets to the bottom of the steps.  
  
"You're very welcome. Come with me." You pull him by the hand to the door of your sauna, and Brian looks confused, "We're going in there?"  
  
"We are," you say.  
  
"I thought...I mean, I figured we'd be downstairs," he says and he points down to the basement.  
  
"We might make it down there tonight, but first, we're going in here. Go in, disrobe and lie down." Brian's quizzical look is still on his face as he opens the door to the sauna; the warm, humid air hits you. "I'll be right there," you tell him. When he goes inside and closes the door, you run back upstairs and undress, get your own robe and slippers, and then search Brian's side of the closet for his slippers. You realize you didn't organize your time very well, but whatever. When you turn the knob of the sauna, you find Brian sitting inside on a bench, still wearing his robe. "What're you doing?" you ask him. "I told you to lie down."  
  
"You didn't say how, so I figured I'd just wait for you."  
  
You shed your non-Armani robe, hang it on a hook, and walk over to him. He reaches out and puts his hands on your waist; you step closer and he presses his face against your stomach and sighs. "I had a terrible day," he says.  
  
You stroke his hair, "You can tell me about it. I'm happy to listen."  
  
"I would rather be distracted from it, if that's okay with you."  
  
"I would love to distract you; would you please get undressed?"  
  
Brian looks up at you with an unguarded expression you don't see on him very often. You're not certain what the cause is, so you don't push him. He disrobes, hangs it up and comes back to you. "How do you want me?" he asks.  
  
"Anyway you like." He steps up to the middle bench and lies down on his stomach. You walk over to the wall and put on some music. You sit one bench lower than him, a bottle in your hand. You smile at him and begin to spray the fluid on his back.  
  
"What is that?" he asks.  
  
"It's a dry oil body mist," you say as you massage it into his back. You put one hand under his nose, "Smell it. It's nice, huh?"  
  
Brian inhales and says, "Very." He asks for details because he can't read the bottle so you give him the rundown. He seems satisfied. "Expensive?" he asks.  
  
"A little, but this is a free sample that came in an order I placed."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"You can close your eyes, Brian. Just relax. Be right back." You get up and get your robe and fold it up. “Lift your head,” you say as you offer it to him as a pillow.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“My pleasure.”  
  
You take your time rubbing the oil all over him; you concentrate on his shoulders, his neck, his biceps as you work your way down to each hand. You want to offer him some relief from the stress he’s feeling; within five minutes or so, Brian's breathing deeply, interrupted only by his comment that, "A dry oil is an oxymoron."  
  
"It is," you agree, "But feel your skin. It's amazing."  
  
"I'd rather feel your skin," he says.  
  
You laugh a little, "For the past few weeks, you've stopped moisturizing in the morning after your shower."  
  
Brian opens one eye and questions you, "Are you stalking my lotion or something?"  
  
"I watch you get ready. You've been skipping a step for a while. You can't do that. At your age, you need to moisturize."  
  
“This is going to make me all slimy,” Brian complains.  
  
“Nope. It’s a dry oil; it soaks right in.”  
  
Brian props himself up on his elbows, "Okay, I'm confused. You said you were going to fuck me when I got home from work, for me not to be late and I was late, and you just want to moisturize me?"  
  
"Do you want me to punish you for being late?" Brian gives you an exasperated look, his hands flopping out in either direction and just jutting into space before he lays back down.  
  
"That wasn't an answer," you say. Brian turns his head the other way, away from you; you're rubbing the oil into his back when he says, "I want what you promised me."  
  
"They have this thing called ‘patience’ nowadays. Have you heard of it?”  
  
“Ha. Ha. Ha.”  
  
Quietly, you step up to the bench he's on and straddle his thighs, spraying the mist on his back where you spend quite a while working on the obvious tension you can feel. His shoulder blades are particularly sore, and he lets you know that he’s in pain when you touch him there. “I’ll ease up,” you promise. The road to his lower back reveals the usual tightness, and you remind Brian to breathe deeply as you massage him. Next, you spray it on his ass cheeks and begin to rub it in keeping an eye on his level of arousal which you suspect he’s probably trying to cloak. You purposely spend a short amount of time on that part of his body and keep working down to his thighs, his calves, his feet. You flex each one and he moans a little. With the scent of the oil filling the sauna, you ask Brian to roll over. When he does, he's hard.  
  
You move, positioning yourself at his head so you massage his temples, his shoulders and the top of his chest. He puts his hands over his head and holds onto you as firmly as the awkward position allows. You kiss him upside down, and he’s reluctant to let go of your biceps. Again, you move and go back to straddling his legs, smoothing your hands over his chest and his stomach.  
  
Brian moans almost forlornly when you let your hands slide down the sides of his cock to the crease of each leg. You rise up and ask him to bend and open his knees so you can work one leg at a time. You start at his foot, apply pressure and apologizing when you accidentally tickle him. “Be careful,” he says, “I’ll kick you by accident.”  
  
“I know. Sorry.”  
  
You work on his calf and his hamstrings and complete the routine on both legs before you let your fingers slide a little too far down on his inner thigh. Brian’s breathing changes; it becomes more shallow, more frequent, and his eyes open and just stare into yours. You speak, “There are a few things I want to talk about.”  
  
“You want to talk?” Brian asks, making an intentional yet cursory glance at his cock; a look to remind you that your priorities aren’t in the right order.  
  
You look down at your own cock which has been hard for the last few minutes but neither cock is going to dissuade you from your goals. “Yeah, I need to go over some things with you. Mostly, you’ll just need to listen.”  
  
Brian latches his hands behind his head and extends his free leg to rest on the lower bench. “Okay, shoot.” It’s a marked change in his demeanor; one that would normally make you recalibrate your next move, but you remain committed to your plan, “First of all, if what we did this morning got your day off on the wrong foot, I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.”  
  
Brian’s expression becomes more serious, more reflective as he responds, “Um, I don’t think it did.”  
  
“Okay, well, in any case, I just needed to say that. Secondly, you need to choose a safeword--”  
  
“I already did,” Brian says.  
  
This surprises you, “Okay, what is it?”  
  
“Pelican,” Brian says.  
  
“Pelican?”  
  
“Yes. Yours is a bird, and mine is a cooler bird that can do amazing things with it’s mouth.” Brian seems pleased with himself and rests one hand on his stomach, inches from his cock. You ignore the gesture.  
  
“Great. And as far as I’m concerned, you can use it at any time for any reason, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and regroup.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“But we’re also going to use red, green, and yellow for stop, continue and slow down. If I ask you what color you are, you need to respond based on how you genuinely feel in the moment.”  
  
“Okay, but that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”  
  
“No, I don’t. I think this is a new headspace for you, and as someone who spends a lot of time in it, it can be overwhelming and cause all sorts of shit to bubble up inside you.”  
  
“Okay, whatever.”  
  
“Thirdly, I don’t want to work until five every day at Kinnetik. I’d rather work until three-ish so I have a little time before you get home to make dinner and stuff.”  
  
“Done.” Brian’s attitude when responding to you starts to make you feel like you’re taking yourself too seriously, or that, at the very least, he thinks you are. But you were prepared for this outcome. Brian scoots closer to you on the bench, an obvious overture. You respond by stroking yourself instead of touching him. He’s not overly thrilled with that but that’s his problem.  
  
“And you’re not to take Viagra or any other ED medicine without my permission.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“And lastly, you don’t masturbate without my permission either.”  
  
“Should I prick my finger and sign in blood somewhere?” he quips.  
  
His long leg is propped on your lap when you respond, “I interpret your sarcasm as nervousness. Am I correct in that assumption?”  
  
He clearly doesn’t like your question, “Whatever, okay? Whatever you want.”  
  
His sharp retort makes you nervous, but you refuse to let that feeling soak in, “Okay, great. I’d like to take you downstairs now if you feel up to it,” you offer.  
  
“Um, sure,” Brian says, “I’m ready.” He hands you your robe from under your head, and the two of you get dressed and leave the comfort of the sauna.  
  
********* **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
**  
As you open the door to the basement, a fierce chill flies up between your legs and threatens to undo any warmth from the sauna; you navigate the steps carefully. You enter the wine cellar and see that there are two random wooden chairs from the basement set outside the door of the dungeon. Justin asks you to wait in one of them and disappears behind the dungeon door. Soon, you can hear him rummaging around.  
  
Justin emerges after a few minutes, pulling the dungeon door almost closed behind him. He's smiling, sort of, as he takes the other chair, spins it around and sits down in it backwards, facing you, his robe opening in the process. He pushes up his sleeves. "Come here," he tells you, and you stand up and walk two steps to get to him. He keeps smiling as he undoes your robe and rubs his hand across your stomach. "Did you masturbate today?" he asks you, and you shake your head and say, "No." Justin touches your cock, explores the arousal you're experiencing and says, "Good. That's a start." And then he gets up, moves the chair away and walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his warm hands on your back. He looks up at you expectantly so you reach for him and kiss him, gently but completely. He reaches up and wraps his hand around your head and asks very, very nicely, "Is there anything you want to say before we do this?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You know what I mean. Is there anything you need to say?"  
  
Your eyes widen as you think and then choose your words carefully, "I didn't know about the check; I swear."  
  
Justin's expression is one of pity, "That's a lie, or at the very least, a misrepresentation. Do you want to tidy that up a bit?"  
  
"Well...I mean...I knew that...I knew that you...." you stutter like a guilty man.  
  
What are you supposed to say here? That you knew about it initially but not about their decision not to cash it? Are you supposed to confess that you came up with that amount? That it was your idea? Because you're not going to do any of those things. You’re not stupid.  
  
Justin seems ready to move on, "Okay, I figured that's how this would go." He steps back to push the dungeon door open for you and offers you a conciliatory smile as you step inside the room. You aren't exactly prepared for what you see; Justin's raided the dungeon closet. The doors are wide open and there are probably twenty open cardboard boxes scattered all over the room, their contents rifled through. It looks like your Amazon Prime account came into the room and vomited everywhere. Justin reacts to the violated look on your face, "You fuck with me, Brian, and I will fuck with you in return. You can disrobe." It's just a statement of fact with almost no emotion behind it. You feel overly exposed as you shed your recent gift; your secrets revealed in a huge mess.  
  
"How did you find the key?" you ask him.  
  
"You can't hide a key over the door jamb and expect me not to find it. I'm not a fucking idiot."  
  
"No, I guess not."  
  
"Maybe you wanted me to find it, Brian. Maybe you want a lot of things you never talk about."  
  
"I don't know," you admit. It’s a bit of a lie but it doesn’t feel safe to answer any other way.  
  
"Right," Justin says with a little huff in his voice, "This is all some big mystery to you. I need you to go sit in the corner for me...and face the wall." You turn and step into the corner behind the dungeon door. "You put a rug down?" you comment because there's a triangular mat that fits perfectly in the space.  
  
"I found it unopened in the closet. I'm not going to make you kneel on concrete, not at your age."  
  
"I forgot I ordered it," you admit.  
  
"Or you just wanted me to suffer. Kneel and stay up on your knees for a second."  
  
You do as instructed, and Justin dims the lights in the room to their lowest level and then comes up behind you and blindfolds you. You start trying to mentally catalog what else was in the closet, afraid of what's coming next but it’s been ages since you ordered most of that stuff. Half the time, you never even opened the boxes. You can hear Justin a few feet away--loud clanking noises and the tinkling sound of chains. He comes up behind you, the objects banging on the floor. "I'm going to restrain you, Brian."  
  
"Okay."  
  
His hand is around your ankle and then you feel something very cold and heavy take its place. The process repeats itself on your left ankle, and then Justin stands up; you can tell because of where his voice is coming from. "Put both hands on the wall in front of you." You cooperate and soon your wrists feel as heavy as your ankles, and there's a chain between them, a freezing cold chain that occasionally brushes against your body. "You can lower your hands," he says, and he's behind you again fiddling with the chains. You hear something click and Justin advises you, "You can sit back on your heels now." The minute you do, your ass meets the icy metal of the restraints. It’s not pleasant. You lower yourself and take a deep breath as Justin sits down beside you; you can feel his skin against your leg. "You're in shackles," he tells you, "Your ankles are connected with a chain and so are your wrists. Those two chains are then connected to one another which means you cannot stand up until I let you out." You use one foot to feel the shackle on the other.  
  
"These things are heavy," you tell him.  
  
"They're very heavy." He puts his hand on your thigh; it's so warm in comparison, "But you should know that; you bought them. How do you feel?"  
  
"Helpless."  
  
"And what color is that helplessness?" Justin presses.  
  
"Mostly green."  
  
"Okay, that's good." He puts his hand in yours and continues, "We're doing this because some of my best submissive experiences with you have started or ended in a corner. When you order me here, I know that everything I do after that is just for you, just to make you happy, to make you want me. When I’m here, my world is small and dark. I have no control, no worries."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"This would be the time to tell me about any concerns or fears you have about being in this role, any limits you want to set--"  
  
"I don't want to set any."  
  
"Okay, but I need you to make that choice for you, not because you think it's what I want."  
  
"I'm making it for me," you declare truthfully.  
  
"Okay. Well, if that changes at any time, I expect you to stop and tell me. And if you can’t agree to that, then we need to go ahead and stop.”  
  
“I will tell you. I promise.”  
  
“Because everyone has limits, Brian, and to be fair, I should be better at articulating mine.”  
  
“Well, sometimes you don’t know you have a limit until you hit it.”  
  
“Agreed,” you say, “And the same thing goes for desires.”  
  
“You’re probably right.”  
  
“I’m always right,” Justin says with a sly confidence that makes you smile. Shackled in the darkness, your knees begin to ache a little, but you stop focusing on that when you feel Justin moving behind you; he mirrors your position and wraps his arms around your torso. He kisses your upper back; you hang your hands on his, the cold chains brushing against your stomach. “For instance,” he says quietly to the back of your neck, “You have a hard core kink about resistance.”  
  
“Yeah…,” you press his hands against your body hoping for more contact.  
  
“In fact, the only thing you like better than fucking me is getting to fight me first.” You lick your lips and take a deep breath. “Right?” he asks.  
  
“There’s some truth to that,” you admit.  
  
“You want more of a fight than I give you, don’t you?” His hand briefly brushes your dick.  
  
“Justin…,” you say and you don’t even really know why.  
  
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks.  
  
“It’s kind of strange to talk about it...when I’m like this.”  
  
“When you can’t act on it, you mean?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean, I can’t even see your face.”  
  
“Well, I blindfolded you for a reason. You’re chronically irresistible being one of them.”  
  
“Was that a compliment?” you ask.  
  
“It was. And I restrained you like this because I think it’s very difficult for you to adopt a submissive mindset unless you have absolutely no other choice.”  
  
“So there’s a method to this madness?”  
  
“Yes, and don’t be a smart ass.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Justin continues, “I was nervous about this at first. I was judging myself before we even started because there’s no way I can be who you are when you’re in charge.”  
  
“You don’t have to be me. I don’t want that.”  
  
“What do you want? Can you tell me?”  
  
"All I want right now, at the moment, is for you to fuck me like you promised.”  
  
Justin sighs behind you, rests his chin on your shoulder, “If you want to be fucked at five thirty, then you’ll be home by five thirty. You were late, so you’ll wait.”  
  
“Fine,” you say.  
  
“What’s the matter?” Justin asks, his breath beside your ear, “Are you afraid I don’t want you?”  
  
It’s a lot for you to admit the truth, “Kind of,” you say, realizing how dumb it sounds but also how quickly you can go from feeling powerful to powerless and how doubt wastes no time filling any gap it can find in your psyche.  
  
Justin adjusts his position behind you, and soon you feel his cock pressing against you, evidence of his desire. “Is that better?” he asks.  
  
“Yes. Thank you,” you say as your insecurity levels lower again. He lets go of your hands and lets his hand wander down your stomach to your cock again; you’re rock hard and you can feel Justin smiling against you.  
  
“I want you to feel powerless, Brian. I want you to feel like control is miles away.”  
  
“Well, mission accomplished,” you say.  
  
“I’m not going to warn you again about being a smart ass. Cut it out.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Justin suggests a new position, “I think you’ve been on your knees too long. You’re shifting your weight too often.”  
  
“Thank you.” It’s a sincere statement.  
  
Justin asks you to rise up on your knees again so he can unlatch the hook that’s keeping you from standing up. He tells you when you’re free and helps you to your feet, and now, as you stand up, the true weight of the shackles multiplies. These things you bought are, quite frankly, ridiculous. Had you used them on Justin, he likely would’ve crumpled to the floor. “Are you okay?” he asks you.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Reach out and put your hands on the wall to balance yourself.” You reach forward until your hands hit the cold cement walls and flatten your palms against them. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
Upon his return, he ducks inside your arms; you spread them wider on the wall to accommodate him.. You feel his hands on your face and then he kisses you and says, “Hi.”  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“We’re going to play around with your pain threshold tonight.”  
  
“Okay,” you say, wondering what exactly he means.  
  
Justin starts kissing your chest, and you moan because it feels so good. “You miss me, don’t you?” he teases.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He starts pulling at your right nipple, over and over, mulling it between his fingers, roughly, and then he says, “Deep breath. This is gonna hurt.” You feel a wicked pinch and then realize that he put a clamp on it, a very unforgiving clamp.  
  
“ _Fuck.”_  
  
“More bad news,” he says as he begins to toy with your left nipple; he even sucks on it before applying the clamp. _Little twat._ “That pain is for whatever bullshit you pulled at Release with that slave registry business.” He moves out from in front of you and subsequently turns you so you’re facing away from the corner. “Lean back against the wall,” he tells you.  
  
“The wall is fucking freezing,” you point out.  
  
“Yes, it is, and you can either back up and lean against it or I can find somewhere for these other two clamps in my hand to go instead.” You step backward immediately, the chains you’re wearing making a ruckus as you press yourself against the cement, cursing under your breath. Now, you understand what Justin means about the comfort of the corner. You felt much safer turned the other direction. He approaches you again, presses his body against yours, “Keep your hands out of my way, understand?”  
  
You push them back against the wall, the movement pulling the chain taut across your body, “Yes.”  
  
“Nope, nope. I don’t like that,” Justin mentions, “Hang on.” You feel him fiddling with your shackles, and within a few moments, he’s reworked them so the chain runs behind your body instead of in front. “That’s better. Now I can get to your cock.”  
  
Oddly, you don’t find that statement reassuring in any way.  
  
“How are you?” Justin asks, “You okay?”  
  
“Sort of greenish-yellow,” you say.  
  
He’s against you again, a seductive tone to his voice, “Those clamps hurt like a bitch, don’t they?”  
  
“They suck.”  
  
“You should see what they look like,” he whispers and then begins to run his finger in circles around one and then other. “They look very unforgiving. I’ll be careful with this flogger,” he says and then he slaps it on your shoulder and lets the tails run down your chest. You hear him back up and then live through the what feels like the longest wait time of your life before the _whoosh_ of the flogger sings out and hits your chest, dead center every time, and then lower where it hits your cock. You try to concentrate on where it’s going to land vs. the pain in your nipples. With your hands restrained as they are, you pull at the chain without meaning to; there’s no way you can get in his way as your hands are effectively chained behind your back. You try to make your mind go somewhere else, but it won’t leave you. It makes you stay present and deal with this.  
  
 _This isn’t fair,_ you think.  
  
…...  
  
 _Justin can put himself into a trance at the first inkling of pain._  
  
…...  
  
 _Fuck, he’s way better at this than me._  
  
…….  
  
 _This pain is maddening._  
  
……  
  
“I want to confess,” you say all of a sudden, “I want to explain.”  
  
Instantly, the flogging stops, and seconds later, your blindfold is removed.  
  
And Justin’s standing in front of you smiling a little, his hand on your face, “Brian, look at me.” You focus your eyes on his face. “You need to take a deep breath in.” You just stare at him like you don’t know how to do that; he prods you again, “I know you’re in pain. Take a deep breath in right now.” You follow his instruction and then the next one, “Now, breathe out.” You do as you’re told. He keeps talking, “I’m going to remove these clamps one at a time.” You look down at his fingers and start shaking your head; you don’t want this. He reacts to you, “They have to come off. But when they’re off, I’m going to set you free, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Justin starts to stroke you and only then do you realize how hard you were getting during all of this, and then the clamps are gone and the blood starts to rush back to your chest filling out the pinched skin. You bang your shackles against the wall at the intense pain you feel and yell something unintelligible. The flogger and the clamps are on the dungeon floor as you watch Justin work quickly to free your hands. As soon as they’re free, you grab your chest like the protection you’re offering makes a big difference now. Justin bends down beside you working on the shackles on your ankles. You stare down at him as he steers your cock into his mouth, a warm suck mixing in with the burn in your nipples. It makes you dizzy. You want to reach down and push on the back of his head, but your hands refuse to leave your chest. You moan in pain and pleasure at the same time; a sharp, breathless sound escapes you when he takes his mouth away and instructs you to go lie down.  
  
You lie on the bed and watch him come toward you.

  
*********  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
There’s an adrenaline rush pulsing through you as you lie down next to Brian. You feel like you could go and climb Mount Everest, but you have to refocus the energy. You’d stopped the scene minutes earlier because Brian was holding his breath and wasn’t responding to you when you told him not to. And then he blurted out something about confessing, and you ended the entire thing. Maybe you’d pushed him to far; he doesn’t have youth on his side like you do. Maybe you hurt him more than you should have.  
  
Maybe, you decide, you should just ask him.  
  
You’re holding him against your chest; you look down and his eyes are closed. His body feels exhausted in your arms. Quietly, you say, “Brian, if that was too much; I’m sorry.”  
  
“I think I’m a pussy compared to the pain you endure; hell, you seem to crave it sometimes.”  
  
“This isn’t a competition. Please, let’s not make it one.”  
  
Yeah, you’re right,” Brian admits.  
  
“I thought you were okay until I realized you were holding your breath. I mean, you had a very organic erection the entire time, even when you were in pain. Your cock likes that flogger… a lot.”  
  
Brian lifts up the sheet and tells his dick, “You hear that? You like to get slapped around. Congratulations.”  
  
You push him on his back, “Quit being a dumb ass. Let me see. How much damage did I do?” You rub your hand across his chest being careful not to put pressure on his nipples; they don’t look happy at all. “Okay, you might bruise a little. Is that why you were holding your breath? The pain was too much?”  
  
“Yeah. I don’t want to admit that, but that was a little too much.”  
  
“You said something about confessing? About what?”  
  
********* **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
**  
You’d sort of forgotten what happened when the clamps were still on. “Oh yeah,” you say as the thoughts settle back into your brain. “Dave called me the day you went to Release to get off the slave registry, and I was sort of mad at you and embarrassed to be honest, so I told him to charge you.” Somehow experiencing that much pain laced with a weird pleasure makes telling the truth seem like the easiest thing you’ve ever done.  
  
Justin gave you a very disapproving look, “Go on.”  
  
“I told him to make sure you paid the fee, and he said there was no fee, so I said it should at least be a thousand dollars.”  
  
Justin is shocked, “Whoa. Really?”  
  
You feel ashamed now; you stop looking him in the eyes, “He agreed, and I told him to send you a bill if you didn’t pay it. Then he texted me and told me that you had.”  
  
“Why did you do that, Brian?”  
  
You press on the bridge of your nose, “Because I spent a pretty penny on that whole experience for you, and I felt like you were throwing it back in my face.”  
  
“You wanted me to pay? Literally. It wasn’t about the money, though. It was about hurting your pride. I made you look bad.”  
  
“Yep.” Justin rolls over and gets cigarettes and a lighter out of the nightstand. He lights it for you and then hands it to you. “Thanks,” you say, “I guess they thought about it after it happened and decided they couldn’t cash the check, but I had no idea about that or that they were sending it back to you. I swear.”  
  
“Well,” Justin says matter-of-factly, “Now, I can spend that money on a fucking speeding ticket.”  
  
“No,” you refuse, shaking your head, “I’ll take care of that. Please...just let me.”  
  
“I will let you.” He turns back on his side, his head propped up with his hand, “I want to tell you something, too.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“You really hurt me when you took my collar away. It felt like a slap...in the heart, although I realize that’s really corny.”  
  
Justin’s comments make you feel like an asshole. “Please know that I didn’t mean for it to affect you like that. I’ll admit, I was lashing out at you for trying to get yourself off that list without even talking to me first.”  
  
“I didn’t even realize until earlier today how much that upset me. I didn’t see that collar as a token for being a good boy--even though that’s what it was. I saw it as a gift for really making you happy...way beyond what happens down here.”  
  
“It was both,” you say, “Genuinely. And I shouldn’t have just sprung it on you when I did at Release. That was stupid. You shouldn’t have had to order me to give it back.”  
  
“Well, you can figure out some way to make it up to me. Stop beating yourself up, okay?”  
  
“They had a matching cock ring…,” you offer.  
  
Justin shakes his head and rolls his eyes, “No, not necessary. When I figure out what I want, you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
“Okay,” you say flopping on your back, “Trust me, after what you did to this dungeon, tearing it apart like this; you more than made your point.”  
  
“Good. Want to come upstairs to bed with me now?” he offers.  
  
“Please. I can’t stand a mess like this.”  
  
Justin gets up and brings you your robe, and you follow him all the way to your bedroom.  
  
*********  
You turn on the fireplace in your bedroom while Justin clears the bed of the gift box. Once the flames are the only light in the room, the two of you make your way to the bed with little conversation. At first, you’re on your side just looking at him, smiling as he looks back. His hand touches your chest and again, he apologizes for the pain.  
  
“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I’ll survive, but I did find my first hard limit tonight.”  
  
Justin pushes you on your back and begins planting kisses all around your nipples. “I get it,” he says, “No more nipple torture.”  
  
Your hand rubs his upper back, “Actually, no, that’s not it.”  
  
Justin looks up at you, an utterly serious expression on his face, “Then what?”  
  
“Offhanded remarks about my age,” you tell him. “I don’t consent to anymore of that.”  
  
Justin laughs and climbs on top of you, “You made me call myself a whore--over and over and over--”  
  
“So?” you object, “That was hot.”  
  
“Not really,” Justin says.  
  
“Well, you ask me for my limits, and I just gave you one. Now, be polite and acknowledge it.”  
  
“Fine,” he says, a smile on his face, “I will not make anymore offhanded remarks about your age. I will make them directly.”  
  
“You better be glad you’re in charge tonight, Sunshine, or I’d make you pay for that sarcasm.”  
  
“Whatever. Where’s the lube?”  
  
You reach for it and hand it to him. You both get quiet as he makes his way inside you. Your knees bend and tilt back, lifting your feet off the bed. You smile at him when his face is in front of yours again. “Feel good?” he asks.  
  
“Worth waiting for even.”  
  
“Did you think about this today? About me being inside you?” Justin asks.  
  
“Yes, several times.”  
  
“How do you picture it?” he wants to know.  
  
“All sorts of ways and all sorts of places; you know the landscape of my libido.”  
  
“Yes, I think I’ve vacationed there...but I forgot to buy a t-shirt.”  
  
“No one wears clothes there.”  
  
“True.”  
  
……  
  
Your legs hug his hips as he settles into a nice rhythm. He kisses you, softly at first and then with more pressure. You feel your body really relax, and you notice a new feeling brewing inside you: you want him to have you. It’s not about conquest or surrender but rather an appreciation for being wanted like this. You’re pleasing him and the sensation is almost liberating. Justin’s body is shuffling against yours, his face lodged in the crook of your neck when he whispers, _”I want you to come.”_  
  
You rise up a little and kiss him hard, breathing heavily into his mouth, your grip on his head unyielding. It has the desired effect of increasing the force delivered with each thrust. You moan at the increased pressure, at how animalistic his response becomes. You feel his hand on your bent leg, pushing the underside of your thigh up and back, the inside of your knee parallel to his shoulder.  
  
“ _Yes,”_ Justin growls when he feels your orgasm start and becomes beautifully fierce climbing his own peak, single-minded and unstoppable. He lowers his head next to your ear, “ _Even when you're in too much pain, you’re still ungodly beautiful._ ” He thrusts harder and is rewarded with your sticky offering. Your body arches; he puts his hands under your head, threads them through your hair. You feel a hard tug when he starts to come; your hands roll down his back; his ass is firm beneath your fingers as you squeeze and hold him inside you. As exhaustion begins to permeate his body, it starts in his hips and oozes upward. He smiles at you and changes the subject, "Which one of my new outfits do you want me to wear tomorrow to work?"  
  
You laugh, "I'm not in charge this week."  
  
"Help me, Brian. I can't decide."  
  
"Nope. Sorry. I took an oath."  
  
Justin pulls out of you and flops down next to you on his back, "Fine, you can go get your own cum towel then."  
  
You reach under your pillow where you keep one.  
  
Of course...it's gone.


	15. Negotiations 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one.  
> #16-Originally published 4/20/16

**NEGOTIATIONS 16**

****BRIAN'S POV**  
 _4:33 a.m._  
**  
You awoke in the middle of the night because Justin was rutting against you. You thought perhaps you'd stolen the comforter in your sleep again because Justin can get downright pissy when you leave him out in the cold, but a quick assessment of the situation revealed that you were both duly covered. Then you wondered if you'd taken up most of the bed, but again, you assessed, and the two of you were dead center on the mattress.  
  
That's when you realized he was dreaming and deeply so.  
  
Justin was moaning as his hips pushed back against you, the rest of his body heavy with sleep. You wrapped your arms around him and leaned so you could see his face. His hair was slightly damp and stuck to his forehead. His skin was warming as you held him. You wondered what the dream was about, especially since the events of the last twenty four hours were a change of course. Maybe he was reliving the night you just had.  
  
He began to mumble at one point, and the only words you could make out in the gibberish were _"fuck"_ and _"please_." You kissed the curve of his neck, his earlobe, his shoulder, and as you ran your hand over his stomach, he came all over it.  
  
He woke up then, disoriented but responding to your touch. He cocked his head backward and looked at you full of bewilderment. Before he could respond, you said, "You came...a few seconds ago. You had a wet dream."  
  
Still, he stared at you, almost like his brain didn't know you, but his body did. He turned and with his eyes still wide open, he kissed you--passionately. You looked at him afterwards, felt him clinging to you and realized: _shit, he's in subspace._  
  
"You're okay," you said quietly, your hand smoothing down the side of his face. "I'm taking good care of you."  
  
He kissed you again, like it was the only language he had at his disposal.  
  
You pressed his back to the sheets and laid on top of him, lowering your mouth beside his ear, "I think you need me to fuck you." Justin's moaning began again and became insistent; you pulled his hand down between your legs so he could feel how badly you wanted this. He seemed a little aimless so you helped him along, "Wrap your legs around me." You used the by product of his earlier orgasm as the slickness you needed to get inside him, but you went slowly because you'd realized that this might technically be sleep-fucking. (And you might technically get in trouble for it.)  
  
He hung onto you so tightly as you fucked him that you found it difficult to thrust sometimes. You settled for just being inside him rather than fight it. He smiled at you, now awake though his eyes would still just flutter open now and then. "Some dream," you said.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You were having a very erotic dream; you were moaning and rutting like crazy." He made a sleepy gesture, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and pushed his hair out of his face. "It woke me up," you added. You looked at the clock; barely ten minutes had passed.  
  
"Jesus, I came," he said.  
  
"You did."  
  
"Hmm," he said, clearly trying to organize his thoughts and remember what brought him to this moment. His body had relaxed; he wasn't holding onto you for dear life anymore, so you began to move your hips with rhythm and intent. "Was I fucking you in your dream?" you asked him.  
  
His eyes flicked up to the ceiling in thought and then he answered, "No, but you were there. I think there were two versions of me."  
  
"There were two of you, and I wasn't fucking either of you? That's more like a nightmare."  
  
"Shhh," Justin said as he kissed you and ran his hands all over you, pressing on your ass. His entire body was flush with desire over the next few minutes and the whole thing was over way too soon.  
  
“That was hot," he said, his fingers in your hair.  
  
"You were just using my body to keep that dream going."  
  
"Since when has that ever bothered you?"  
  
"If I wasn't fucking either version of you, was I fucking someone else in your dream?" you tried.  
  
"You weren't fucking anyone."  
  
You flopped down on top of him in mock-disgust, declaring, "We need to get you to a mental hospital immediately."  
  
"It's just a dream; let it go."  
  
"Nope," you said shaking your head, "Not gonna do that. Spill. It."  
  
He talked rather quickly, many a word strung out thick like taffy, caught in the middle of a yawn, "We were at Release or someplace like it, like that night we went there to watch. You put me in that gang bang thing they do." Your eyes widened to a diameter that frankly, caused you some concern that they might fall out. "So, one of me was naked and getting gang banged on that platform thing, and you were sitting on the platform by my head, and you kept telling me how much you loved me and praising me for doing it and rubbing your hand all over my body and stuff."  
  
"Interesting."  
  
"But the gang bang version of me was all pale, like one of those blue photo filters, and the real me was in one of those color-saturated filters and I was sitting on your leg while all this was happening; we were both dressed nicely and all over each other; we were kissing and flirting, and I was watching everything--including the other 'me'--, and I got, apparently, very aroused."  
  
"So I was right; you were floating," you said with a tiny smile.  
  
"I guess so; I was really turned on watching you debase the other version of me. I was never inside the me that was getting fucked. I was just watching him and watching you watch him."  
  
"Which version of you had the orgasm?" you asked.  
  
Justin yawned again, "I'm not sure. Let me think." He closed his eyes and said, "Hmmm." His mouth moved a few seconds later, but no words came out. He was falling back asleep. Your bodies were chest to chest, your leg slung over Justin to keep him against you until your alarm went off. You tried to make a mental note to ask again tomorrow.  
  
******** **  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
 _Monday morning at Kinnetik, 9:37 a.m._  
  
** Your frustration was growing; it was starting to buck up inside you and you did your best to tamp it down while trying to get your point across, "Ted, you have to tell him. You can't just leave everything in limbo."  
  
Ted had gotten up about five minutes prior to shut the door to his office, guaranteeing the two of you some privacy. "Justin, I've tried," he stressed. His eyes kept shifting from yours to his view of the rest of Kinnetik. Both of you needed Brian to stay in his department head meeting for now. "He doesn't believe me or he's pre-occupied with something else or he just gives me that look like he wishes I was dead or something."  
  
You uncrossed and re-crossed your legs and motioned for Ted to get back in his chair; everyone's walls were practically see thru; you didn't need anyone to pick up on Ted's anxiety. "Fine," you conceded, "I'll tell him. Today."  
  
"He won't believe you either," Ted told you.  
  
"Yes, he will," you defended.  
  
"No, he won't. No disrespect intended, Justin, but Brian's in a huge amount of denial." You tapped your index finger on your knee and began to mentally categorize any and all instances of denial you'd seen in Brian over the last six months or so: the dungeon he commissioned and had built in secret; his extensive dealings with Release; his willingness to switch roles in the bedroom with very little fuss; and, of course, the excessive shopping. You sighed and stood up, "Ted, I'll take care of it. Give me her address."  
  
Ted looked down at his phone, "I just texted it to you."  
  
"Thanks. I'm going to text Brian that I'm going out to get a couple things for my office. Don't tell him any different."  
  
"I won't. Good luck."  
  
Your winter coat was still laying on the couch in Brian's office, so you left without it though you needed it; it was a sunny day whose warmth was negated by an ice cold breeze.  
  
********  
When you pulled up in Cynthia's driveway, her car was parked in the open garage. Her house was quaint and on the market, for sale by owner. It was important to you that you did this in person and not over the phone so you could read her. You walked the curving sidewalk to the front door and as you were about to knock, the door opened abruptly, "Justin, hey!" Cynthia's voice was friendly, "I had to get to the door before you rang the bell. She's asleep." She pointed down the hall and then pulled that finger back to her lips. "What are you doing here?" She pulled you inside as she asked, closing the front door behind you. "Come in, come in. I haven't seen you in forever!"  
  
Maternity leave had taken a predictable toll on Cynthia's appearance; she wore no makeup and had her blonde hair mostly in a ponytail. Her yoga pants were standard 'new mom' issue. You sat in her kitchen and accepted tea to drink while letting her fill you in on the particulars, "Her name is Emerson; we call her Emmy. She's a light sleeper or I'd take you in the nursery. Here's a picture." She pulled a photo off the fridge--one of her, her husband, Gray, and Emerson at the airport. "That's her debut on U.S. soil. It took forever but it was so worth it."  
  
"She's adorable. You're selling your house?"  
  
"We need something bigger. We might build, actually. When we bought this house, we hadn't planned on adopting."  
  
"I'm so happy for you. She's absolutely perfect," you said.  
  
"So? What are you doing here? Is Brian okay? Oh shit..he's all right, isn't he?"  
  
"He's fine. He misses you--badly."  
  
Cynthia nodded, "He told me to take as much time as I need; he's been so supportive."  
  
She gave you the opening you needed, "That's kind of why I'm here. He needs a firm date for your return or your resignation."  
  
A cloud of concern passed over her face, "He sent you?"  
  
"No, no," you reassure her, "I'm here on my own; I'm working at the office for about a month helping Brian hire new assistants. But in order to do that, I need to know what I'm looking for. Do you plan on coming back?" Cynthia looked away, pretending to listen for the baby, and you knew you had your answer. "It's okay if you don't. I just need to know so I can help him hire the right people."  
  
"I've never been so torn in my life, Justin. This is hard."  
  
"I get that, but, ultimately, you're going to choose your baby, right? I mean, I would."  
  
She tried to change the subject, "Are you and Brian going to-? I mean, have you talked about it?"  
  
You shook your head, "No. He has Gus, and I have him. We're good."  
  
"How do I tell him, Justin? I can't...we’ve worked together since before he met you.”  
  
The depth of their relationship sunk in for you. You’d forgotten that she was instrumental in Brian’s life long before you came along. "Why don't you let me tell him? And then later this afternoon, after I've broken it to him, I'll text you, and then you can email him your resignation."  
  
"You would do that?"  
  
"Ted's been trying to convince him for months, and he won't hear it. And I want to be clear, if _at any time_ , you want to come back in whatever capacity, that is fine. I'm not trying to get rid of you; I'm just trying to help Brian move on. He's burning himself out."  
  
"I can train somebody; I can even interview my replacement. I can work a few hours a day for a week or something," she offered.  
  
"Thank you. That's really nice of you."  
  
"Well, I didn't plan on leaving. I really didn't, but motherhood; oh my god, it's everything to me."  
  
"As it should be," you said with a smile.  
  
There were smiles and hugs and a promise to bring the baby by the office later in the week. You drove back to Kinnetik trying to decide how to break this news to your husband.  
  
*******  
As you entered the office, you saw Ted standing in front of Brian's desk, the two of them engrossed in something. Brian acknowledged you with a nod when you came in and said, "Left my coat in here," as you plucked it from the couch.  
  
"Where'd you go?" Brian asked, and Ted glanced back over his shoulder with a semi-panicked look on his face.  
  
"I went to Staples, but they didn't have what I need. Can I get some of your time before lunch, Brian?"  
  
He smiled, "Sure, we'll be done in five."  
  
"Okay, be right back."  
  
You went to your office, hung up your coat and grabbed a steno pad and a pen. You passed by the art department on the way back and said hello to the guys you knew and were introduced to the ones you didn't. As you turned to go back to Brian's office, Ted was standing smack in front of you, an urgency in his voice, "Well? How'd it go?"  
  
"Mission accomplished," you said with a smile, and then gave him a wary look so he wouldn't ask you more questions in front of the staff. Ted took the hint and just patted you on the shoulder before walking away.  
  
******  
"So," you asked Brian as you sat in his office with your notepad propped on your leg, "Tell me what you're looking for." As he described the quintessential employee, you made notes and then began to drop feelers in the water to see how strong his denial really was. "So, we're looking for one person or two?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I guess it depends on who we get."  
  
"You need a personal assistant and an office manager, basically. Is that what you're thinking?"  
  
"Sure, sounds good."  
  
"But if we could find that perfect candidate who could handle both roles, that would be ideal."  
  
"Right, ideally," Brian said.  
  
"So, this person will replace Cynthia?"  
  
Brian looked a bit perplexed, "I'm not sure."  
  
"You're not sure of what?"  
  
"I mean, it's her job. I don't want to...."  
  
"You don't want to fill it?"  
  
Brian seemed to tire of the topic, "Yeah, right, I mean--."  
  
You cut him off, "Do you have a lunch meeting today?"  
  
Brian's arms were folded on his desk; he turned his head and glanced at his on-screen schedule, "Nope."  
  
"So we can have lunch, just me and you?" You smiled at him, and he smiled back. You'd moved on to a topic he likes.  
  
"Sure," he replied.  
  
"Good, then we can talk about the job descriptions for these positions?"  
  
"Okay. About half an hour?" Brian agreed.  
  
"Sounds good. I'll work on some drafts for you." You stood up, leaned onto Brian's desk, and gave him a quick kiss.  
  
"You look really nice today," he complimented.  
  
"Damn right I do."  
  
*******  
You had little in the way of drafts prepared when you met Brian back in his office. You assumed you'd be going out for lunch, but Brian had an array of various Thai appetizers on his coffee table and an explanation, "This is how I do lunch on Mondays. Standing order."  
  
"Oh, so we're staying here?" you asked. Brian offered you a pot sticker which you accepted as you sat next to him on the sofa. He seemed like he was in a decent mood, so you decided to just go for it. You turned your body toward his and declared, "I need to talk to you about something."  
  
Brian smiled, "Is this about my nipples?"  
  
His question threw you off and caused a detour, "Do we need to talk about your nipples?"  
  
"No, that was a joke. Jesus."  
  
You took a deep preparatory breath and ripped off the metaphorical band-aid as it’s usually the best option for dealing with Brian, "Okay, so I spoke with Cynthia today, and she's not coming back."  
  
Brian's expression tried to hide his anger from you, though, admittedly, he pretty much sucks at that, "I knew you weren't at fucking Staples."  
  
"Brian, she's a mom now; she has other priorities."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"You're not acting like you know that. You're acting like you expect her to walk through the door one day and handle that backlog of shit on your desk."  
  
"Fucking Theodore. Just fuck him."  
  
"He's right. He's been trying to tell you, but you won't accept it. You keep putting him off, putting certain projects off; you can't do that." Brian's jaw was fixed as he stared out the doors of his office into the empty lobby. You kept going, "You have to move on. You need to hire someone to replace her. She'll come train the new person on a part time basis if needed."  
  
"This isn't fair. I'll never find someone like her again. She gets me, Justin. Only about ten people get me on this entire planet, and she's one of them."  
  
"When a door closes, a window opens," you tried.  
  
"Jesus Christ."  
  
"Look, change is part of life. It's a loss, but you're going to be okay; I’ll help you find the right person."  
  
A despondent aura overtook Brian, "Whatever."  
  
“You knew that once she got married; she’d probably breed. It’s what heteros do.”  
  
“Yeah, but it wasn’t working.”  
  
“Okay, so I get that her fertility challenges made it easy for you to ignore this issue, but she’s conquered them. They adopted.”  
  
“That took forever, too.”  
  
At that point, you realized just how long this issue had been circling the runway for Brian; most people would've used that time to get themselves comfortable with the upcoming change, but Brian went the other direction and just convinced himself she was never going to leave. His defiance surfaced a memory in your mind of the time you went to see him at his loft after Michael told you about Brian's cancer. Brian doesn't deal well with loss or perceived loss, especially when it surrounds someone he loves. "Why didn't you talk to me about this?" you asked him.  
  
"Because talking makes it real? And you're so practical about everything," he protested.  
  
"It sort of bothers me that you didn't." Brian sighed and scooted closer to you on the sofa; he reached out and touched your hair, tucking it behind your ear. It prompted you, "Please don't try to change the subject."  
  
He ignored your request, "Last night was nice. The massage was wonderful. The rest...exciting." He tried to kiss you, but you tilted your face and dodged him. "That wasn't very nice," he complained.  
  
You pointed your finger, "This. What you're doing right now, and everything that's happened with us for the last year: the sex, the dungeon, the Viagra, having me over your knee every night....all of that is because of this."  
  
"Don't be melodramatic."  
  
"It is, Brian. It times out exactly. You became overly obsessed with our sex life at the exact time Cynthia went on maternity leave."  
  
"I had you over my knee because you wanted to be there, Justin."  
  
"I did," you conceded, "But you groomed me for it; you wanted me to want it because you needed to feel in control of something again."  
  
Brian gave you a mildly disgusted look, "Well, I apologize for all of those red-hot bare assed orgasms you had."  
  
"I am _not_ complaining about the sex, Brian. All I'm saying is that you could've talked to me about this, too. I'm your partner...for life; you can talk to me about anything."  
  
"Pelican," Brian responded.  
  
You rolled your eyes, "And look how far you took this denial. We've come full circle, and now I'm in charge. I'm sorry that I didn't realize how much this was affecting you. It's why you had me come work here; you needed me to help you see this."  
  
"I used my safeword; you have to shut up now."  
  
"So, I guess I'm flattered. You are talking to me about it in your own weird way."  
  
"Can I change my safeword to 'shutthefuckup?'"  
  
"Request denied."  
  
"Well, in that case, as your temporary employer, I would like to give you your first performance review," Brian said.  
  
"Go right ahead. This will be a new thing for me; usually, you just fire me."  
  
"You're so funny. When someone hires you for four to six weeks, it's a bad idea to complete your task before lunch on the first day. You need to learn the concept of job security."  
  
You laughed, "I'm married to you, Brian. You are my security and my job."  
  
......  
  
When you left Kinnetik that day, Brian was placing the ads and calling a few head hunters, who he admitted knowing because they'd given him head once or twice in the olden days; he liked that particular juxtaposition a lot, 'hunting for head.' You felt confident that you'd have candidates to screen in no more than forty-eight hours. You also stopped by Ted's office on your way out the door and made sure he understood that this 'situation' with Brian was never to go on this long again. "You call me," you told him, "I'm your ally; let me help you."  
  
"Cynthia used to help me with this stuff," he said.  
  
"Right, and then she left and both you and Brian forgot how to function."  
  
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Ted conceded.  
  
"Tomorrow, I'm going to help him tackle that stack of stuff on his desk."  
  
"Justin, thanks. I feel so relieved."  
  
"Tell Blake I want to take his yoga class soon, too. I might as well since I'm in town."  
  
"Sure thing, and don't forget those forms for payroll."  
  
"I'm not letting him pay me; that's ridiculous. It's all our money."  
  
"Okay, well, I'll let you tell him that," Ted said.  
  
"I will. See you tomorrow."  
  
********  
Back at home, you did some laundry and made dinner. You felt energized after your first day and happy that you were able to help Brian get back on track. Clive called to let you know that your paintings had arrived safe and sound and that he was very excited to show them for you. Oliver was actually at the gallery when they arrived, and he'd already decided to buy one. "He wants to buy like three," Clive said, "But I told him to calm down. We have zero wall space as it is."  
  
"Yes, but he's out of the house again. That's awesome," you said.  
  
"I think he's decided to cope through shopping. He's been leaving the gallery for about half an hour every day by himself, and he always comes back with something."  
  
"Shopping cures everything for Brian, too. I can relate."  
  
Brian called you at five and said he was already on his way home. You put the finishing touches on dinner, keeping it warm in the oven. When he walked through the door, you took his briefcase, coat and phone. "You're on time," you said with a smile.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Go upstairs and get undressed. I'll be up in just a minute."  
  
"Don't I at least get a 'hello' kiss?"  
  
"Sorry," you said as you obliged him, "Of course you do." **  
  
********  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
**  
When you stepped into your bedroom, you felt a jolt, a weird mix of comfort, excitement, and relief. You got undressed; your robe was laying out on the bed, so you put it on, sat on your bed and waited. Justin came up pretty quickly, and as he slipped his hand under his sweater, you remarked, "I don't want you to take those clothes off; you look hot."  
  
He smiled and walked toward you, "You get to see them all day at work, but, okay, I'll undress you first." You felt something when he pushed your robe off your shoulders, when it eventually pooled beneath you, but you had little time to examine the feeling because Justin was talking again, "As soon as I left the Kinnetik parking lot today, I missed you."  
  
"Same here," you said.  
  
"It's sort of weird because we usually spend our days apart."  
  
"I know. Lesbian virus probably. Highly contagious."  
  
Normally, this would be the moment you'd ask about what's for dinner or how his day was or whatever, but instead, you just sat there in front of him, ultimately hanging your hands from his forearms as his hands framed your shoulders. Justin leaned in and kissed you, offering much more than a welcome home gesture. You began to fiddle with his clothes, untucking the trappings of his winter work outfit. He let you push his sweater up, unbutton his shirt, and even pop the button on his pants. Justin took your hand at that point and without breaking eye contact with you, he repositioned your hand between your legs, curling your fingers around your cock. "I want you on all fours," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded and turned your body as he stepped backward to give you room.  
  
You watched between your legs as Justin finished undressing, stroking yourself at the same time. "Stay down like that," he said as lowered his knees to the mattress, so you pressed your face into the comforter and closed your eyes.  
  
Justin ran his hand down the slope of your back to your shoulders as he teased away any resistance you had left. Initially, his depth inside you felt like a bass note played too long. You reached back and held his thigh to temper him a bit, and he understood you, moaning as he pulled back a little. You knew that kindness would be short lived because you could hear it in his breathing when he pushed back. Your legs began to stiffen and your breathing became shallow as Justin's thrusts were quicker and harder. This was going to be quick and brutal, just like your earlier conversation that day. You licked your lips, gave them some attention because you couldn't kiss him. You paid attention to every brush of skin, to every time his thighs touched yours, to every time his balls bounced against you. You watched and stroked and wanted.  
  
Justin gripped your ass, steering you where he needed you. He wanted you to come; you could feel the intention in his cock. He wasn't going to last much longer.  
  
"Brian," he panted, "Come whenever you want."  
  
Your eyes rolled back in your head as your body began to surrender.  
  
"Chain reaction," he huffed, "Come on."  
  
You braced yourself for the telltale squeeze, for the lift in your sac, for the endorphins holding a pep rally in your pores. It triggered Justin; you knew it would, and he tried to hold you still, his forehead resting on your back for the euphoric ordeal of it all. You came on your robe, silently apologizing to it in your head.  
  
Minutes later when the two of you were on the descent of that arc, Justin informed you, "I want you to stay full for me--a basic plug, nothing fancy."  
  
"I don't know," you heard yourself say.  
  
"Try for me, please."  
  
You exhaled and nodded, knowing that Justin was behind you attempting to make this effortless for you; without warning, he pulled out and let a plug take his place. You rolled onto your side; your body curling; Justin shadowed you, instantly the bigger spoon. You felt his thigh pressing against the plug, holding it in place. The stimulation was overwhelming at first, a twisted ache that made you feel close to orgasm again even though you weren't. "Whatever you're feeling," Justin said, "Just feel it."  
  
What you were feeling was hard to describe, an awkward pleasure riding waves of appreciation; waves that were crashing inside you like a persistent tide. Minutes passed, and then Justin was pressing on your shoulder in an attempt to turn you so you could face each other. "Let's go eat," he said, cradling your face in his hand, "I'm starving." When he saw the state of your robe, he laughed, "Sweatpants?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Sorry if I ruined it," you told him as you dressed.  
  
Justin smiled and held out an old long sleeve shirt for you, "It's okay. I bought three of them."  
  
You grinned and then stepped forward and sort of grabbed him; you kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. He wiggled free, "What was that for?"  
  
You confessed, "You get me. You make me feel...special...as dumb as that sounds."  
  
"You are special," Justin said, his hands around your waist, dipping down until he could feel the plug, "And you're mine."  
  
*********  
After dinner, you were tasked with cleaning up the dungeon by yourself. Nothing had changed from the night before; the room was still covered in cardboard boxes, packaging fillers and the contents of everything you'd bought for this adventure. As you cleaned up, you were mindful of the one thing Justin had asked you to bring back upstairs.  
  
He was sitting in one of the chairs in your bedroom reading when you finally finished. "I'm done," you said as you sat in the opposite chair. Justin closed his book. "Well, that took forever. Did you find them?"  
  
"Yeah," you said as you handed him the set of three small floggers still encased in plastic.  
  
"Open them," he said, and you obliged, handing them to him. They were small; you could hold all three in one hand. He tossed them on the bed, and as your eyes followed them, you realized that he'd been busy up here; the restraint system was visible, part of it on top of the sheets. Justin sat back down and instructed you, "I'd like you to get undressed and kneel in front of me." As you did as instructed, he opened his robe and his legs, giving you a space to kneel. He smiled down at you, ran his fingers through your hair and asked, "How are you doing?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"How's the plug? Is it bothering you?"  
  
"No, but I'm aware of it." Your eyes lowered and focused on Justin's cock; he wasn't very aroused which would normally make you feel let down, but at that moment, you realized that he was just genuinely concerned about you.  
  
"Do you want me to remove it?"  
  
"No, not necessary."  
  
"It doesn't bring you any pleasure, though?" he asked, a worried look on his face.  
  
"I'm not sure yet. I don't have a better answer. Please don't worry about it."  
  
"Okay. Where are you color-wise?"  
  
"Green."  
  
Justin sighed and leaned back in the chair, bringing your head forward at the same time. He pressed your face between his legs. You brought your hands up to his thighs and kissed his dick; you took the glans in your mouth and felt him start to harden on your tongue. He brought one knee up, his foot resting on the chair and moaned with pleasure. You spent time just planting kisses on his stomach, on his thighs, and each time you took him back in your mouth, his verbal appreciation was louder. He pulled you off, though, when you began to get serious and held your face in his hands, "I have plans for you tonight, Brian Kinney, and that includes the possibility of a very nice reward."  
  
"Sounds good," you said as you smiled, "What do I have to do to get it?"  
  
"Go lie on the bed on your back."  
  
You did as requested, asking, "You're going to tie me up?"  
  
"For starters. Would you like that?" Justin asked.  
  
"I've enjoyed every moment I've had with you today, so why not?" You continued to flirt with him as he bound your wrists in leather cuffs, hooked them together and then latched them to the bed frame.  
  
Justin kneeled between your legs, "I think the reason this plug does nothing for you is because it's too small."  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that."  
  
"We could go up a size and see if it makes a difference," he offered.  
  
"Does that get me closer to my reward?"  
  
Justin poked his tongue inside his cheek, "Maybe." And then he scurried over to his nightstand where at least five butt plugs and two dildos reside at any given moment. He examined his options and returned, showing you the one he'd chosen. It was royal blue and didn't look too threatening. You pulled your legs back for him. He liked that and gave you a sly grin, "That was sexy."  
  
"My gift to you."  
  
His arousal was obvious, and after he made the switch, he laid down on top of you and admitted, "That made me want to fuck you again. Do you like it? Is it better?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet." Justin reached between your legs and lined his knee up with it, pushing it inside you. "You're just trying to stuff me," you teased, "Like a Thanksgiving turkey. You fuck me; you come inside me, and then you plug me and feed me dinner. It's pathological, really."  
  
"It's an amazing feeling," he told you, not denying your characterization, "I hope you feel it someday. It feels like love to me."  
  
He kissed you then, delaying your response, "Everything feels like love to you, Sunshine."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Kiss me again...please." He did; he kissed you everywhere and all you could do was wrap your legs around him and rub your foot up and down his legs; he was hard; it excited you. And he was right about the plug size; it made a difference. Justin ended up back between your legs, running his face down the inside of your thigh, taking your balls in his mouth. You planted your feet on the slippery sheets and arched your back. You felt his fingertips around the base of the plug and then you moaned loudly when he slid his finger inside you right next to the toy. Your stomach flipped over. "Oh god."  
  
"Don't come," he warned you.  
  
"Jesus."  
  
"That stretch is amazing, isn't it?"  
  
"Fuck me," you begged.  
  
He shook his head, "No, but, please feel free to beg. I love that."  
  
"Justin," you tried, "I want you...."  
  
"No."  
  
"I need you...please." You were serious; this wasn't a game for his benefit. You saw the flogger, the small green one, come up out of the corner of your eye. He slapped your cock with it and you rose up again and saw that it had some sort of stinging things on it. "Christ."  
  
"Tiny spikes," he said, "You can barely see them." He brought it down again, this time partly on your balls, "But you can feel every one of them, can't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Every time the sensation repeated itself, you heard the rings holding your wrists together clang against the chain hooked to the headboard. "I was going to tie your feet down, too," Justin admitted, "But then I thought, there are so many more places I can reach when you're spread wide like this. And look how hard you are, Brian. You're so beautiful." The prescription of pain and pleasure Justin was administering caused a wicked dilemma inside you. Each time the prickly sensation rained down on your cock, he pressed the plug and finger in deeper. It was creating a seesaw sensation, one where you craved both ends of the spectrum. He chastised you several times, "You're gonna come too soon. Control yourself, Brian." And then he'd hit you harder or in a more sensitive place. He stopped when he knew you were getting past the point of no return; the seesaw evened out and the absence of pain somehow hurt, too. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on your cock, "Now, you get your reward."  
  
He moved backwards and put cuffs on your ankles, securing them to the bed frame the same way, grabbed a bottle of lube and straddled you. You watched with rapt attention as he stroked your cock with a wet hand and then rose up to let you inside him. You started to shake a little; you weren't expecting to be inside him, and you could tell by the look on his face that this was going to be a rough ride.  
  
He leaned down low, his face two inches from yours, "Now tell me that plug doesn't feel wonderful."  
  
"I won't last," you warned him.  
  
"Oh, you better."  
  
He placed his open palms right on your nipples, rubbing back and forth as he rode you, his complexion reddened, ecstasy splashing across his face. You looked away in an attempt to distract yourself, and he immediately turned your face back, "You look at me. You look right at me, Brian."  
  
"I want to spank you," you blurted out.  
  
"I'll bet you do."  
  
"Evil little slut."  
  
"That's why I tied you up. I know you too well."  
  
Your cock felt like it had been on fire and then doused in the most delicious concoction, and you came when you weren't supposed to, but Justin didn't care; he kept right on going, flying past you to his own release, panting on top of you when he was done. He reached up and unhooked your hands, and you hugged him. "That was a vicious reward, Sunshine."  
  
"Your cock never disappoints," he declared.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
********  
You watched some financial news to wind down for the evening; Justin was curled against you, his book propped on your chest. Every Christmas you try to buy him the newest e-reader, and he tries it out, complains that it doesn't feel like a real book, and returns it. Sometimes when you chill with him like this, you keep your hand on the top right corner of his book and turn the pages for him; he indicates his readiness by brushing your finger. When the show went to its final commercial break, you muted the TV and told him, "Cynthia emailed me her official resignation late this afternoon."  
  
Justin closed his book, tossed it aside and positioned himself across your chest, "I'm sorry; I know this is really hard for you."  
  
"It is.”  
  
"It's a big deal to lose somebody who's been instrumental in your success and a really good friend to you."  
  
"I like how you want to take care of me," you told him.  
  
"I enjoy it; it makes me feel valuable."  
  
"You're _in_ valuable to me."  
  
"C'mere," Justin said, tugging on you until you were down in the sheets together. He sighed and wrapped his arms around you; his head pressed against your chest. You turned off the television, inviting darkness back in. "Are you ready to go to sleep?" he asked you.  
  
"Yeah, you?"  
  
He answered affirmatively by turning his back to you, an invitation to spoon him. It made you remember, "Do you remember your dream early this morning?"  
  
"Uh, yeah--mostly."  
  
"Did you figure out which version of you came?"  
  
"I haven't thought about it, but honestly, now that I do, I don't think either version of me came in the dream. I think it was just me, just my body responding."  
  
"So I fucked the real one then?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"It made me miss that side of you," you confessed, "I love that boy."  
  
Justin laughed, "He loves you," he tilted his head back, "And only you. There were a ton of doms in that dream, most of them fucking me. None of them had faces, and I chose to sit on _your_ lap and just flirt with you. I was wearing a red sweater I don't even own."  
  
"What was I wearing?"  
  
"The usual: black button down shirt, tight, expensive jeans, black boots."  
  
"Was anyone else flirting with me?"  
  
"You would ask that, you egomaniac. No, you only had eyes for the two of me."  
  
"Were we married?"  
  
"I guess. I don't remember any jewelry, but I did feel very devoted to you. Can you stop with the questions, though?"  
  
"Yeah, but if I stop, I'll start fondling you."  
  
"That's fine," Justin agreed, "Rub my butt."  
  
You commenced with the requested activity, commenting a minute later, "What we've got back here is a turbo peach fuzz situation."  
  
"If you don't like it, your side of the bed is empty and waiting for you," you replied as you fluffed your pillow and got comfortable.  
  
"I didn't say I didn't like it. Jeesh."  
  
You defended your posterior, "It probably grew like that because it's constantly being spanked and wants to build up a buffer or something."  
  
"Armor," you replied, a sly tinge to your voice.  
  
********* **  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** A quiet hush evolved between the two of you, one you enjoyed with closed eyes as you basked in the affection Brian was bestowing on you. He kissed the back of your neck, his fingers holding your hair up and out of the way. You leaned back against him and sighed, turning your head for just a moment to plant a reciprocal kiss on his neck. You knew that part of this demonstration was because of the work day you'd had, that you'd helped him and that he appreciated it. Brian didn't have to come out and say it; he has a million ways to talk to you through touch, and you understand ninety-nine percent of them. His hand snaked over your thigh at one point searching for your cock; when he felt the desired response, he moaned and pressed himself against you. And then he went back to massaging your ass, making no overt request for your participation. "What're you doing?" you asked quietly, your words delivered to your pillow.  
  
"Nothing," he said, "Nothing at all."  
  
"Liar."  
  
Brian's body urged you to turn and face him, and with rolled eyes that he couldn't see, you did. He kissed you and pulled your leg over his. Slowly, he ran his hand down your leg, kissing you intently, no doubt to keep you focused on the wrong thing. You felt his hand brushing past your balls, and before you could blink, he had two fingers inside you that were essentially pulling your hips to his. In the palest moonlight, you curled one hand around his neck and the other around your dick and began to pleasure yourself. Brian had his head tucked down watching you do this; he paid close attention to your verbal ecstasy and timed filling you with one more finger as you were climbing the ladder to orgasm. You squeezed his neck hard, prompting him to say, "C'mon. Come for me."  
  
"Harder," you begged, and Brian pulled his hand out and used more force going back in.  
  
You realized this was a gift and nothing more, and when he felt you squeeze his hand, he egged you on, "There you go, come on."  
  
You clamped your leg over his and came between you, most of it hitting his stomach. You caught it with your finger and brought it up to his lips. He sucked it off your fingers like he was just happy to be there.  
  
You believed it.


	16. Negotiations 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #17-Originally published 7/17/16

**NEGOTIATIONS 17**

****JUSTIN'S POV**  
  
** Wednesday morning begins with you finding a rather ambitious bouquet of phallus-like flowers on your desk with a handwritten note from Brian on the back of his business card. All it says is: _you make me happy_ in his handwriting. There's something taped to the card with masking tape. You peel it back to find one of your allergy pills. He's thought of everything. You glance at Brian's extension on your office phone; it's on _do not disturb_. He has a meeting with a new client. The other giant thing on your desk is the stack of stuff that Brian had been hoarding on his desk for months. You spread it out on the floor and got to work trying to sort it all between accounting, confidential personnel docs, stuff to be filed, back to Brian, etc.  
  
****************** **  
 **BRIAN'S POV**  
**  
Your Wednesday morning brings in a new client, the owner of a line of 'fidget toys.' The only reason you get through the meeting is because the guy brought the prototypes which allowed you to keep your fingers busy clicking and twisting his products which, in turn, kept a smile on your face the entire time.  
  
Justin was partly right about the underlying cause of your discontent; he'd plucked out about thirty percent of the problem in record time. You were impressed. Sometimes you forget how astute he is. You arrived at the office before Justin did by about half an hour, so during your meeting with the toymaker, you got to see Justin come in. You like watching him when he's on a mission, even if he's just trying to figure out what's up with the gift you left on his desk. Kinnetik has a very open space design, so you could see him about eighty percent of the time. It's nice. You like looking at him.  
  
It's time to talk strategy with your new client, so you reluctantly focus on the ideas you have for his products.  
  
 _Blah, blah, blah._  
  
You don't want to be at work; you want to be with Justin in another universe where there are no interruptions or occupational expectations; you want to lie on some giant bed in a private and purple-ish galaxy--naked and probably at his mercy.  
  
The meeting ends with a handshake and a signed contract, and you don't even know how that fucking happened.  
  
**************** **  
 **JUSTIN'S POV**  
**  
Your sorting task keeps you busy, so busy that you don't see Brian propped in your office doorway right away. But when you do, you ask, "So, good meeting?"  
  
"Very good; he signed."  
  
"Great. Why the colossal bouquet?"  
  
"To thank you for yesterday, for looking out for me the way you do."  
  
"They look like dicks, Brian."  
  
"I know; aren't they fabulous?"  
  
"It's so huge; I have no room on my desk."  
  
"Well, if only we could say that about every dick," Brian laments.  
  
"You're in a very weird mood," you tell him.  
  
"You have no idea."  
  
"You okay?" you ask because he's starting to give off a weird vibe.  
  
"Want to take a walk with me?" he asks you.  
  
"Um, don't you have work to do?"  
  
"I can't concentrate," he admits.  
  
"Sure, you're the boss. Let's go," you say as you get up off the floor. In less than five minutes, the two of you are bundled up in your winter coats and crossing the street headed for the entrance to a nearby park. "Are you sure you're okay?" you ask him again.  
  
"I don't want to be at the office right now."  
  
"Okay." You start to wonder if you pulled a rug out from under him yesterday with this whole Cynthia mess, maybe he's more upset than you realize. "If I did something, tell me," you say.  
  
"Honestly, this really isn't about you."  
  
He could've taken this walk by himself if he needed some space, and he didn't, so you decide you’re just going to roll with this.  
  
*********  
The park is filled with the usual suspects: the runners, the moms pushing swaddled babies in strollers, an elderly couple sitting on a bench and pointing to various birds. There are even one or two drug transactions happening in a way that feels appropriate for this pocket of suburbia. Brian's dress shoes hit the asphalt path a bit louder than yours do; you find the rhythm soothing. He plucks off one of his black leather gloves and slides his hand into your coat pocket. He squeezes your bare hand, and you squeeze back; tilting your head back and smiling up at him. It’s been a very long time since you took a walk in a park in the middle of the day with him. Random snowflakes collect on your scarf; the ones that fall in front of your nose melt quickly as you breathe. The day is overcast, yet he's wearing his sunglasses. Finally, Brian speaks, "I need to talk to you about something."  
  
"Sure. What's up?"  
  
"You know what a charley horse is, right?" he asks.  
  
"Yeah, that leg cramp thing. That one time I got one--"  
  
"You woke me up in the middle of the night and scared the crap out of me," Brian finishes.  
  
"Well, I didn't know what it was."  
  
"Right, well...I think...it's highly possible...that I'm having an existential version of one of those."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
He turns and looks at you, "A part of me is struggling a little, I think." Many concerned thoughts flash thru your mind after he says this, and before you can respond, he adds, "Not with you and me. Not at all."  
  
You feel like gravity wants you to stop moving through time; you tug on Brian, try to hold him back, "Can we stop and sit down for a second?" you ask.  
  
Brian shakes his head, "No, no, I need to keep moving, okay?"  
  
This is why he's wearing sunglasses, you realize. You acquiesce, "Okay, no problem. If it's not about us, then what?"  
  
"Broadly, work," Brian responds, his head turned and staring off in another direction. "You weren't completely off base yesterday."  
  
"This thing with Cynthia has you this upset?"  
  
"No, it's bigger than that."  
  
You rub his wool-covered upper arm, "How long have you felt this way?"  
  
"Almost a year."  
  
......  
  
 _A year?_  
  
......  
  
"A year is a long time not to say something, Brian."  
  
"I didn't know what it was; I couldn't name it. And it wasn’t this bad at first.”  
  
"I don't like that, you not telling me," you confess.  
  
"I'm telling you now. Yesterday, you accidentally stripped away everything that I had propped in front of it in my mind; you exposed it like film in an open camera." The two of you approach the end of the walking path, and without asking you, Brian pulls you to the curb by your arm as he hails a cab. When you're inside the vehicle, he gives the driver directions to the loft. He turns to you, offering you a slight smile and a quick, appreciative kiss. This is not a side of Brian you expected to encounter today.  
  
"How about I clear your day?" you ask him.  
  
"I have to sign checks this afternoon."  
  
"You can do that late in the day?"  
  
He sighs, "Yeah, that's fine." Seems like it's the last thing he gives a damn about.  
  
"Okay." You text Ted as Brian stares out of the car window. You tell him that the two of you are busy until late this afternoon. You explain where you're going, that Brian's phone will be off, and to only call yours in case of an emergency. Finally, you arrange for some version of lunch to be delivered to the loft around noon.  
  
************  
Once inside the loft, Brian sheds his coat to you, an automatic gesture, and heads for the sofa. You join him. His body is laid out end to end; you squeeze in and he props his socked feet on your legs. The heat kicks on; a burning smell temporarily tickles your nostrils.  
  
"Brian, whatever's wrong; I want to make it better."  
  
"You are," he assures you.  
  
"It's just this morning there was a card on my desk reading _you make me happy_ and an hour later...you're indicating that you're not...?"  
  
"Both things are true," he admits, "I think it's most likely burn out."  
  
"Maybe it’s because you work too hard, own too many businesses?" you offer.  
  
"I know. I'm thinking about selling Babylon but then there's a sadness in that, too."  
  
"A long, expensive vacation maybe?"  
  
"I don't know," Brian says in a despondent tone that he rarely adopts.  
  
“And just for my peace of mind, you’re not sick again, right?”  
  
“No,” he says, “I promise you; I’m not sick.”  
  
"Ted knows there's something wrong. Did you know that?"  
  
"Yep. I had that new client meeting this morning, and the whole time I was thinking about you and didn't give a shit about his new account or him or his toys which, by the way, is really shitty of me.”  
  
"Why do you say that?”  
  
“This guy, he made these toys for his autistic son, and they help the kid get through the hard parts of his day. He started his own business; he’s self-made. I could help him make a lot of money.”  
  
“You will, Brian. You’ll figure this out. Not every problem needs an ‘all or nothing’ solution.”  
  
"I feel like my creativity is drying up and blowing away or something. I feel like I have nothing to offer, and I have an entire building full of people who depend on me having ideas."  
  
"And a bank account."  
  
"I'm not worried about money. We're fine."  
  
"You could stop taking new clients...permanently or just for a while."  
  
"That feels like a half-assed solution," he complains, “It feels like giving in to this crud.”  
  
"I know what you mean about the creativity. When I feel that way, I know it's time to change something, to experience something new or to take a real break."  
  
"Well, duh. Anyone would give me that advice," Brian snorts.  
  
"That was rude. Is there something particular you want me to say or do?"  
  
"No." He turns his head and stares out the giant loft window.  
  
This, you realize, is why Brian needed you close; why he pulled you into his world. You also know that he’ll take a dim view of sympathy and even empathy unless the latter is well disguised as something else, so you’re a bit brutal with him, "I think that...you let this happen to you. You let this metaphorical cigarette burn all the way down until it singed your fingers."  
  
"Probably."  
  
"What we've been doing these last few months outside of work, it dulls your pain?" you ask.  
  
"Better than any drug ever could. That dungeon doubles as a hospital, I guess.”  
  
You smile down at him, “Want to play doctor? I’d love to have you as a patient.”  
  
“That idea terrifies me.”  
  
"Okay, well maybe you need to talk to somebody."  
  
Brian sighs, "I knew you were going to say that."  
  
"If you'd watched that show _Billions_ on Showtime like I begged you to, you would know that there's such a thing as special shrinks for those blessed with brilliance, creativity and wealth."  
  
"I cannot watch Paul Giamatti be tied up in a New York sex dungeon. That doesn’t do it for me, Justin."  
  
"Well, you should've because then you would've known that you're not alone, Mr. Kinney.” You pull out your phone and start texting, prompting Brian to inquire, “What are you doing?”  
  
“Texting Jon.”  
  
Brian sighs in a benign yet aggravated way, “Justin, please.”  
  
“Please what?” you question. “Please don’t care about you? Not happening. You’re going to talk to somebody ASAP.”  
  
“Yes, dear.”  
  
“And you need to be forthcoming with whoever it is because you’re not doing the alternative.”  
  
Brian’s brown furrows, “What’s the alternative? You gonna have me committed or something? Or keep me locked up in the dungeon?”  
  
“Anti-depressants that kill your sex drive and give you a limp dick, obviously.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, good point.”  
  
“And you’re taking the rest of the week off or, at the most, working half days. That’s it.”  
  
“Why do you mother me so?”  
  
“Because Debbie is busy and not up to speed. Who else is going to do it?”  
  
There’s a thud outside the loft door, and Brian sits up alarmed, “Someone’s here.”  
  
“It’s just lunch. I arranged it.”  
  
***********  
Lunch from a local deli, sandwiches and soups and a bottle of wine, are consumed on the floor in front of the sofa picnic style. As you start to clean up, Brian stops you, sighs and puts his hand on your arm, “Thanks, that was good.”  
  
“You’re welcome. I’m going to bag this trash so we can take it down when we leave,” you tell him as you leave everything waiting by the loft door. When you turn back around, you see Brian sitting back on the sofa, his head bowed. As you round the couch, you see he has your phone in his hand. Lucky for you, he doesn’t know the passcode. You snatch it from him, “Nope. Nothing you need to worry about.”  
  
“Justin,” he groans.  
  
You kneel down in front of him, and he gives you a curious look, “Can I help you?”  
  
“I don’t know,” you say, “Do you remember how to undo your pants?”  
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
“Then prove it,” you tease him as you scoot back to get his shoes and socks off. You hear his belt come undone, his zipper go down, and he rests his head on the back of the sofa when you slide your fingers into his pants and underwear and pull them down. He’s smiling down at you as he unbuttons his shirt and untangles his necktie. You move in, up on your knees so you can plant a kiss or two on his stomach. His legs widen around you, and you pull back to kiss his knee and to run your hand along the inside of his thigh. “This might take awhile,” you tell him, and he moans, resting a hand on your shoulder.  
  
You plan to torture him, to explore every erotic inch of his lower body because you know he isn’t thinking about what’s bothering him as long as you’re touching him like this. You deliver firm kisses to each thigh, letting your hands skate around his balls and his cock. You lick his pleasure trail...up and back down again. He starts to stroke himself just around the top of his dick like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to. “It’s okay,” you grant as you take his balls in your mouth. Gentle suction drives Brian mad; it’s too little and too much at the same time. Quietly, you ask, “What’s going through your mind right now?”  
  
Brian moans loudly, his hand travels from your shoulder to the back of your head where he toys with your hair, “An ocean of pleasure filled with warm waves.”  
  
“See, your creativity is just fine, Brian.”  
  
He snorts a little, his head thrown back so his adam’s apple is all that points forward. His back arches; his legs squeeze you hard and then releases you. You tongue laps at the base of his cock as you take it from him; you explore every square inch as it beads in your hand. He gives the back of your head an urgent squeeze and demands, “Come up here for minute.”  
  
You climb up and straddle him, and he kisses you with a steep fervor; his hands working your clothes off. “I’ve got it; I’ve got it,” you caution him because you don’t want your brand new clothes torn and in less than a minute, you’re naked on his lap and the passionate kissing resumes. Brian’s face dives for your neck where you’re ninety percent sure he’s leaving a mark, but then he stops, his lips behind your ear. “Listen to me,” he says.  
  
“I am.”  
  
“I want you to get back on your knees and do that whole scene again, but this time, I want it rough.”  
  
You blink intently as you try to comprehend, “You want me to start from scratch?”  
  
“Yes, and you don’t need to hold back. I’ll be very forthcoming with feedback.”  
  
You lean in and whisper in his ear, _”Thank you.”_  
  
He pushes you off his lap, and your knees sink back into the fluffy white rug. You look up at him as you start back at his knee, kissing his kneecap, touching his thigh, and you hesitate, wondering if he wants you to slap him. He sees the confusion on your face, and brushes your hand away before pressing your face into his leg. It takes you a couple minutes of exploration to realize that he wants you to bite him. You smile as you figure it out and start to nip at him, making the pain sharper the closer you get to his groin. He starts to unwind and wind up at the same time, and when you nip at his balls, you feel his hand choke the back of your neck as he bleats out, “Fuck...yes.”  
  
You feel no need to hold back anymore, and you’re rewarded with new sounds of ecstasy from Brian as you let your teeth graze the sensitive skin beneath his sac; you squeeze and handle him much more roughly than you ever have, so much more that you feel a palpable fear from him when you start to mouth his cock. He holds his breath as you take him in your mouth and pull him out along the edges of your teeth, and alternating that pain with the pleasure of a top shelf blow job makes him start trembling all over. Sometimes you suck him while manhandling his balls, squeezing them too hard while making sure he can feel a finger pressing toward his asshole.  
  
He has goosebumps all over his entire body as he climaxes; he lifts his ass up off the sofa in order to choke you with as much of his cock as he can. “ _I can’t…. I can’t….,_ ” Brian gasps before his body descends.  
  
“You can’t what?”  
  
“I can’t take this,” he declares with a tardy urgency, the last word seeping out of his mouth like a hiss from a dying snake.  
  
“Um, you just did,” you say as you climb up into his lap and hug his exhausted body. Time beats out second by second as you hold him while your gut swims with these new sensations. Brian just opened a door for you. He led you to it and gave you the key. And he wanted to. You almost quiver with a secret happiness you’ve never felt before. Your mind celebrates with a confidential confetti storm.  
  
But you need to stay present, to be with him. You stroke the back of his head as it still rests on your shoulder as you tell him, “You’re going to come to bed with me so I can fuck you.”  
  
“I can’t feel my legs,” he says.  
  
“We’ll go slow,” you concede as you get up and take his hand leading him slowly up the steps. Brian lies down on his stomach, his head buried in a pillow that he clutches like a life raft.  
  
You move slowly, opening him up carefully. As you push inside him, you squeeze his sac now uber-sensitive post-orgasm, and he yelps, “ _Christ!_ ” into his pillow, his breath shallow and stunted, his hand making a fist.  
  
“I’ll make it quick,” you tell him.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
It feels odd to be deep inside him while the rest of his body is visibly strained, but he’s letting you in; he wants it. It’s as if he fights the pain without fighting you. You feel wicked and free as you fuck him, like you’ve satisfied him in a brand new way and as a result, are now entitled to take what you want.  
  
He’s fucked you like this a hundred times.  
  
********** **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** Everything has a pinkish glow to it, including Justin’s teeth when he smiles down at you. Your face feels warm pressed against his chest; the sheets are pulled up past your chin; your feet can feel the end of the mattress. You pull them back up; you’re not interested in edges right now.  
  
You’ve lost track of time and what day it probably is.  
  
“Do you want some water?” he asks you quietly.  
  
“No, I’m good.”  
  
“Really good,” Justin says as he kisses the top of your head.  
  
…...  
  
“What time is it?” you finally get around to asking.  
  
“Ummmm,” Justin props himself up to see the clock, “Almost three.”  
  
“In the daytime?” you joke.  
  
“Yep.” There are several minutes of a tactile silence between you, and then Justin asks, “Can you feel your legs yet?”  
  
“I can’t feel anything,” you laugh.  
  
“You’re on the other side of the endorphin stampede for a change.”  
  
“I feel like I should know what comes next, but I can’t remember,” you admit.  
  
“Sleep and then hunger or vice versa. Sometimes you give me a banana.”  
  
“We have no bananas,” you say in a low deep sing-songy voice, and Justin laughs at you, “Nope, we don’t.” But then he corrects himself, “Well, we have a couple, but they don’t look much like bananas right now.”  
  
You laugh, choke on some spit and start coughing. Justin pats you on the back, “Sorry, that was stupid.” You hear a muted _thunk_ sound, and Justin reaches over you to retrieve his phone. “It’s Jon,” he says, “He can Skype with you at four if you want. He just finished his last appointment for today.”  
  
“We have a laptop here?”  
  
“We do,” Justin says, “‘l’ll confirm.” Justin sets his phone back down and comes back to you. He begins to prep you for the rest of the day, “I’ll go back to the office while you talk to him--”  
  
“No car,” you interrupt.  
  
“Uber. I’ll make sure everything’s under control, and let Ted and Allison know about the rest of your week. I think we should work in the mornings until lunch and take the rest of the day off. You just text me when you’re done with Jon, and I’ll come get you. Take as long as you want. I have plenty to do at the office.”  
  
Usually you find Justin’s excessive mothering and need to plan everything highly annoying, but not in this moment. Instead, you feel a little relieved. His plans sound perfectly rational, and you find their existence soothing. “I’m...falling asleep,” you tell him, and he runs the back of his hand over your face as he says, “I know. I’ll wake you up in time.” You curl yourself around him and let yourself doze off.  
  
…….  
  
He wakes you up at ten minutes til four, your laptop humming to life next to you. He’s dressed and doesn’t look like he’s spent a good portion of the day naked with you. You wonder if he took a shower. You roll on your back and feel the cold wet spot against your skin. You get up to piss, and when you come back to bed, everything is ready for you: a t-shirt, a bottle of water, a jar of peanut butter with a spoon sitting on top. “It’s all we have,” Justin says as he fluffs a pillow for you to lean against.  
  
“I’ve got this,” you tell him, “I’m good.”  
  
“Look at me, your hair,” Justin says as he calms it down with his fingers, and you bat them away.  
  
 _”I’ve got this,_ ” you say, “I don’t need hospice care.”  
  
Justin laughs, “Okay, okay. I can’t help it; sorry. I’ll wait for your text. Good luck.” He leans in and kisses you, “I love you.”  
  
“Oh my god, stop.”  
  
“Don’t forget you don’t have pants on.”  
  
“My ass feels like a slip ‘n slide; I won’t forget.”  
  
Justin throws a towel at your head, blows you a kiss, and leaves the loft. You grab the spoon and the brand new jar of peanut butter and unscrew the lid. Justin drew a heart on the seal. You decide you don’t want any right now. _Maybe he needs therapy,_ you think, _because he is totally out of control._  
  
********** **  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
** Later that afternoon, you’re following Brian’s Mercedes down the highway as the two of you head for home. You feel very protective of him, but at the same time, proud that he found a way to let you know something was bothering him. Even after being with him for almost two decades, you still get a little freaked out when there’s real growth in your relationship. It often comes in very strange moments.  
  
You don’t even ask him how it went with Jon other than to inquire about whether it made him better or worse. His response of, “Better,” is enough for now. The two of them plan to talk again on Friday afternoon. Over a lite dinner you prepare, Brian confides that Jon, “Doesn’t believe in daily sessions unless you’re really really fucked up. He says I should take time to process what we talked about.”  
  
“That makes sense,” you offer.  
  
(It also signals to you that Jon doesn’t think Brian is falling apart, a signal you appreciate.)  
  
“I figured you’d ask me what he said,” Brian says.  
  
You shake your head as you retrieve a piece of lettuce that fell off your plate, “Nope. That’s between you and him, but I’m happy to listen if there’s something you want to tell me.”  
  
“He said I’m a very high functioning depressive,” Brian laughs.  
  
“You’re a ‘high functioning’ everything, Brian, and don’t be melodramatic; you are not a depressive person.”  
  
“I told him that you said no meds.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“Yeah, I told him it’s because you can’t really survive without my cock.”  
  
You roll your eyes because you know Brian, and you know he’s dead serious, “That statement was covered by spousal privilege. You had no right to reveal that.”  
  
“Well, I also told him that things between us are...really good,” he admits.  
  
You smile, “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. I said that it turns out that you’re _way_ more than a hot piece of ass.”  
  
“You told him about what we’ve been doing?” you ask sounding more defensive than you want to.  
  
“No, I didn’t elaborate.”  
  
“Good, because that’s nobody else’s business,” you inform him.  
  
“I agree,” Brian says.  
  
“You better agree.”  
  
“Yeah, I kinda figured that.”  
  
***************  
In bed an hour later, Brian’s nude body is propped up against yours as the credits run on the second episode of _Billions_. Your arm drapes over his chest, your hand rubbing his torso. “Hey, I meant to tell you,” you say, “I need you to shave me soon.”  
  
His hand roams to your groin, his eyes still on the television, “Yeah, you’re right. You’re stubbly. I can feel it when you fuck me actually. Want me to do it now?”  
  
“No, you’re on something. I can tell by how still you’ve been. What did you take?”  
  
The third episode begins to countdown, “Found some expired Vicodin at the loft.” Brian laughs as he tells you. “Couldn’t share it; you’re allergic.”  
  
“How many did you take?” you ask.  
  
“All of them...three.”  
  
“You could’ve rolled me a joint or something.”  
  
Brian sighs, his body lazily rolling so he’s almost facing you, “I can if you want me to, or I have Valium.”  
  
“No, I’m fine,” you say as Brian’s body finishes its turn and begins to pull you down into the sheets. “Turn it off if you’re not gonna watch it,” you tell him, and he does, rendering your bedroom almost completely dark. “Do you like it so far?” you ask meaning the show.  
  
“I like _you_ ,” he says depositing a invitational kiss to the tip of your nose.  
  
You arch up to kiss him back reveling in the extra affection the opiates are stirring inside him. You put your hand on his cheek and tell him, “I know you’re high now, but you were high earlier today, too...on the sofa. A different kind of high, I mean.”  
  
Brian grins as his eyes flit upward like he’s searching his brain for the memory. He finds it quickly, “You made me float, Sunshine.”  
  
You suppress the urge to squeal with delight at Brian’s confirmation and instead, remain impressively composed. “You told me what to do; you led me there.”  
  
“I did,” he confirms.  
  
“I liked that...a lot.”  
  
Brian’s arm wraps around you as you converse; his face just two or three inches from yours, “You didn’t hold back, and you take direction well.”  
  
“You know, all of this has got me thinking….,” you tell him.  
  
“Uh oh.”  
  
“See, I’m starting to wonder if maybe you’re more versatile than you ever let anybody know.”  
  
Brian’s brow furrows, “I wouldn’t go that far.”  
  
You hold his chin and make sure he’s looking at you, “It’s not that you always want to be on top; it’s that you like pain when you bottom, and you don’t want to come right out and tell anybody that.” Maybe it’s because he’s a little high or maybe it’s also because it’s been an emotional day, but Brian gives you a sheepish look for a second and then looks down as he maneuvers his body so he can lay his head on your chest as you continue, “I mean, actually, you did tell me that the first night you fucked me. You told me that it always hurts a little, remember?”  
  
“I remember.”  
  
“You just didn’t finish your thought. You didn’t tell me that _you_ like it that way.”  
  
“Well, that’s an interesting theory,” Brian says attempting to seem unimpressed.  
  
“You’re right,” you tell him, “It’s just a theory, but I plan to run a few experiments and see if I’m on the right track.”  
  
“Oh, is that so?” he questions.  
  
“Just so happens that it is,” you assure him, “And I need something from you to start that process.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I need a list of every sex toy in the dungeon, everything we own.”  
  
Brian retorts, “You’re the one who opened all the boxes. You saw everything.”  
  
“Right, but I need a list, so you can either go down there and make me one or give me the password to your Amazon account so I can see if we already have what I need.”  
  
“No, no, no,” Brian objects.  
  
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”  
  
“So I don’t have a choice in this?” Brian asks.  
  
“No, I’m afraid you don’t.”  
  
“The password is ‘albatross.’”  
  
“Aw, sweet. Thank you. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You lean over him to get his iPad, but he blocks you, your bodies clashing in the darkness.  
  
“Not now, you’ll be up all night,” Brian complains.  
  
You surrender and fall back on the bed, “Okay, that’s true. I’m just excited.”  
  
“Well, that terrifies me, and since I’m under a doctor’s care now, I think you should try not to do that.”  
  
He kisses you even though you’re laughing at him. “I’m happy to take very, very good care of you, and I’m not gonna charge you.”  
  
“Pelican. Pelican. Pelican.”  
  
“Using your safeword as a joke is not funny, Brian. It’s inappropriate.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Brian quips and then he salutes you.  
  
You prop yourself on his chest and ask, “Will you do a soft and hard limit inventory for me?”  
  
“Oh, Jesus.”  
  
“Please,” you pine.  
  
“I don’t know...can I fuck you tonight?” he asks.  
  
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked because I’m barely surviving over here without your cock.”  
  
He rolls on top of you, smirking at your attitude, “Okay, I’ll do it tomorrow afternoon on paper, not verbally, and _not_ with you staring at me.”  
  
“Perfectly fine. I want it on paper,” you say with a smile.  
  
“Of course you do.”  
  
“How come you never made me do one?” you ask.  
  
Brian brushes your hair from your forehead, “Because, and I say this respectfully, your limits are generally pretty obvious to me.”  
  
“Well, that’s not the right way.”  
  
“Also, you like to play on the edge; you like it when I don’t know where the line is. I mean, let’s be real, you don’t want me to know.”  
  
“I shouldn’t do that,” you admit.  
  
“You can’t help what turns you on.”  
  
“Cynthia”s bringing the baby by tomorrow between ten thirty and eleven. I forgot to tell you.”  
  
“Can you go to that baby boutique on Liberty and get her a generous gift card in the morning then?” he asks you.  
  
“Sure. Her name is Emerson; they call her Emmy.”  
  
“Emmy,” Brian repeats, “Like an award.”  
  
“Right.” Your legs wrap around him, and he smiles at you before burying his face in your neck. You close your eyes, accepting all of the kisses and whispers he’s offering. He fucks you while kissing the top of your head, mumbling something about how good your hair always smells. And when it’s done, and your bodies disengage, he wipes the cum off your stomach while telling you, “What you did for me today...I appreciate it.”  
  
“Anytime.”  
  
“Mmm,” Brian moans as he spoons you, his body settling down for sleep.  
  
……  
  
“Those dick flowers...it’s okay if I put them in the lobby tomorrow?” you ask.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“The gift card. Two fifty generous enough?”  
  
“Perfect,” he says before reversing himself, “No, wait, maybe three.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll spend three hundred, maybe a gift card and something cute to go with it,” you say.  
  
“You’re the boss about this shit, not my department.”  
  
You sigh, “Being the boss is exhausting, though.”  
  
“Tell me about it, Sunshine.”  
  
“Yeah, I get why you’re cracking up.”  
  
Brian rises up behind you, flattens you on your back and proceeds to tickle you mercilessly. You end up slapping him like a girl, screeching, “Okay! Okay! I’m kidding. Stop it!”  
  
He straddles you, now wide awake and ready for battle, “I will spank you so hard, you won’t be able to walk into work tomorrow.”  
  
“Piggy back?” you ask.  
  
“Wheelchair,” Brian proposes, “Take it or leave it.”  
  
“Okay, okay. I retract my statement.”  
  
He’s clearly suspicious of your motives, but he climbs off of you and rolls on his other side to sleep. You curl up behind him and kiss his shoulder blades and whisper, “ _You needed me today, and I love you for that._ ”  
  
“I need you every day, Justin.”  
  
“I know; I’m just saying it felt good.”  
  
“Well, I’m not getting any younger. Pretty soon, you’ll be changing my diapers, so you have a lot to look forward to.”  
  
“I can hardly wait.”  
  
  
 _A/N: Jon is Dr. Jon Massey, a psychiatrist friend of Justin's and then Brian's in[BYBR](http://bjfic.livejournal.com/145687.html)._


	17. Negotiations 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #18-Originally published 9/18/16

**NEGOTIATIONS 18**

****JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
** Your love for Brian is both simple and complicated at the same time. It spawns passion and creative works; it's a tree offering shade when the sun's too intense; it's a book that--within its pages--lives a story that you never want to end. But sometimes it's also a living puzzle that's trying to keep you from solving it.  
  
That's how you felt about it as Brian drove the two of you home from the office at two fifteen on Thursday afternoon. The morning had not gone well, and now, Brian was smoking a cigarette as he sped up on the highway. He knows you don't like to be trapped with cigarette smoke. All you had to do was start to say, "Brian, could you--?"  
  
And he sighed deeply and rolled down the window letting the icy wind roar and slice its way into the car as he let the cigarette escape, his arm fully extended as he groused, "It was _one_ fucking cigarette."  
  
"I know. Thank you."  
  
"Whatever." Brian's jaw reset to its firm position as he stared straight ahead. You stared at the trees you were flying past and thought about that morning...  
  
Thursday morning did not go the way you wanted it to, however, it was instructive as it brought you to a realization that you weren’t quite expecting. The ride _to_ work Thursday morning was a ride-share with Brian. He was in a good mood and was looking forward to meeting with Cynthia. From your arrival at eight thirty when you relocated the penis bouquet to the lobby all the way until you returned from the upscale baby boutique with a gift for Emmy around ten, things were humming right along. It wasn’t until about ten twenty-five that you became aware that Kinnetik was getting a little crowded. Apparently, the impending arrival of Cynthia and her new baby had spread throughout the grapevine of Brian’s businesses, and there was a small welcoming committee there when she walked through the door. In your defense, you don’t work there everyday, so it wasn’t obvious to you that this was going to be a problem. It wasn’t until you saw Cynthia surrounded by Emmett and Rube and Ted and Blake and Allison and guys from the art department, etc. contrasting with Brian’s dark and solitary stance in the doorway of his office that you put it together. You smiled at Brian, and he didn’t smile back. Instead, he turned around and disappeared into his cave. The over-the-top pink gift bag looked a bit too festive in there all alone with him.  
  
Twice you tried to insert yourself in the hen party that was growing larger by the minute, and twice you were shuffled back to the outside of the circle as if the lot of you were emperor penguins trying to stay warm in the artic. “You’ve already seen her!” Emmett announced, “I want to hold her!.” Kinnetik’s phone was ringing, and luckily, Allison heard it and stepped away. You took the opportunity to nudge Ted out of the scrum. “Come here,” you said, and he followed you to your office with a look of confusion on his face. Before you could even say anything, Ted thought (incorrectly) that he has sussed out the issue, “Everyone’s welcome to come to lunch with us. I made a reservation for fifteen people at eleven thirty at that new place.”  
  
 _Fifteen people? Jesus._  
  
“I didn’t know there was a group lunch,” you said sounding like a wounded middle schooler.  
  
“Yeah, I called her last night. We all miss her; that baby is so--” you stopped him, “Okay, look, Brian’s under the impression that she’s coming in to talk to him.”  
  
“Well, we’re not leaving _right_ now. He’s got at least half an hour,” and then Ted really looked at you, “What am I missing here?”  
  
You glanced out in the lobby where Emmett had Emmy up in the air. He cooed at her and thanked Cynthia for naming the baby after him. You rolled your eyes and before returning your eyes to Ted, “This isn’t what Brian was expecting. He needs a couple uninterrupted hours with her, minimum.” You stopped there because you didn’t want to reveal that Brian was also in the midst of a strange slo-mo emotional breakdown.  
  
“Well, I’m sure she’ll take a nap at some point, and they can talk,” Ted countered.  
  
“Okay, fine,” you said, realizing that you and Ted were going to get nowhere. You walked back out to the lobby, nudged your way to Cynthia and invited her and the baby into Brian’s office with a smile, “We have something for you.”  
  
“You didn’t have to do that!” she said, “But I need to change her first. I think all this excitement made her poop.”  
  
 _Funny_ , you thought, _metaphorically, it did the same thing to Brian._  
  
You entered Brian’s office and then shut the door halfway. He had a scowl on his face and pretended to be looking at his computer. “Okay, here’s the deal--,” you tried.  
  
“Emmett’s ovulating?” Brian snarked.  
  
“I didn’t know this was going to happen, and the whole group made lunch plans, too. You two can talk after lunch, okay?”  
  
“Where’d she go?” he asked you pointing at the gift you bought earlier as if it now offended him, “We have this pink explosion to give her.”  
  
“Bathroom. She pooped.” Brian gave you a cock-eyed look so you rephrased, “The _baby_ pooped. Okay?”  
  
“Those people out there need to get back to work,” Brian said.  
  
“Don’t worry about that right now.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“Hellooooo,” a sing-songy voice floated through the air behind you. You turned and welcomed Cynthia and Emmy into Brian’s office, reassured when you saw him get up with a smile on his face. As you participated in the gift-giving and well-wishing, you were coming to your first conclusion about Brian: _he’s devolving._  
  
You’ve seen him do this before when he gets sick, but he’d already promised you that he wasn’t ill. You remembered what he was like when you got out of the hospital, the wall he built around himself. You remembered how he jumps to horrible conclusions when change is imminent and how he can blind himself to reality--like by hiring trapeze artists to prevent a sea-change in his friendship with Michael. Whatever’s bothering him now brought you to your second conclusion: _he's afraid of something._ You began to feel like the single parent of a highly intelligent preschooler. You did your absolute best to help Brian navigate the rest of the day by micro-managing his expectations.  
  
He got some time with Cynthia, but it wasn’t enough. Emmy took a nap, but one that was too short. Brian, sensing the impending interruptions, couldn’t make the conversation happen or perhaps, more likely _wouldn’t_ because everything wasn’t perfect. His mood was atrocious, and during the car ride home that afternoon, you’d had about enough of his attitude….  
  
“You need to slow down; this is where I got a ticket,” you reminded him.  
  
“No,” he responded, “You were on the other side of the highway.”  
  
“You need to stop being a dick to me,” you warned him, “This mess is not my fault.”  
  
“I know that.”  
  
“Then stop treating me like shit,” you retorted.  
  
“It’s not intentional,” Brian said, “I’m just--”  
  
You interrupted him, “You’re fucking furious, and I don’t even know why.”  
  
“I didn’t even get to spend any time with her; I got nothing accomplished,” Brian complained.  
  
You turned in your seat to face him; your hands gesturing all over the place, “If you want to sit here and act like this anger thing you’ve got going on is just about Cynthia, go right ahead, but just know that I know that _that_ is bullshit.”  
  
Brian sighed and looked at his side mirrors. You’d never been happier to see your exit sign.  
  
Once inside the house, you parted ways with Brian and headed for your studio. You needed to finalize a bulk canvas order with Harper. Eventually, Brian appeared in the doorway, his tie loosened and envelopes in his hand, “You got some mail.”  
  
“Throw it there,” you said pointing to a table.  
  
He complied and then asked you a ridiculous question in a ridiculously casual way, “Are you going to fuck me?”  
  
You shook your head in disbelief. “No,” you said.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
You looked up from your laptop and gave him an exasperated look, “Why in the world would I want to fuck you right now? You’re a giant ball of negative energy.”  
  
“It might make me less of one,” Brian contended.  
  
“Yeah, that’s not my dick’s job, sorry.”  
  
Brian shrugged, “Okay, then I’m going to the gym to work out.”  
  
“Have fun.”  
  
*************  
After maybe thirty minutes had passed, you were on the phone with Harper going over canvas quantities, a process which always takes Harper forever because she has to talk through everything before coming to the decision that you already made, but whatever, it’s how she is. As she rambled about her reasons for this and that, you logged into your home security portal and pulled up the camera feed in your gym to see what Brian was up to. You could hear music blaring all the way down the hall, so you figured he was powering through some aerobic exercise. Yet, as the black and white feed came up, you saw Brian doing bench presses with an open bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. You watched as he took a swig after every few reps. “Harper,” you said, “I have to go.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Just go with what you have, and I’ll send you my half.”  
  
“Okay, we’ll talk later.”  
  
You hung up and scrolled through your contacts until you found Jon’s number. When he answered, you got to the point after a few niceties, “If we come to the city tomorrow, can you and Brian do his session in person?”  
  
“Sure,” Jon said, “I already blocked off two hours for him, two until four. Everything okay?”  
  
“He’s...I don’t know...he’s struggling with something. I just think he needs some face to face help rather than screen to screen.” That was all you wanted to say at the moment.  
  
“It’s fine with me.”  
  
“Okay, well, assume that’s what we’re doing unless I tell you otherwise. He’ll be at your office at two tomorrow.”  
  
“See you then.”  
  
You watched your monitor as Brian got up from the weight bench, wiped his face on a towel, and then went to the elliptical and actually tried to fit the whiskey bottle into the drink holder. After realizing it wouldn’t fit, he decided just to hold onto it and the machine at the same time. When he began to program his workout, you shut your computer and walked briskly down the hall. You knocked twice and opened the door. Brian gave you a cursory look and began to exercise. You walked up to him, took the whiskey and hit the stop button on the machine. “You’re done,” you said.  
  
“Nope. Twenty more minutes,” Brian declared, starting the program again.  
  
Again, you reached over and hit the red stop button, “You’re _done_.”  
  
“Leave me alone,” Brian said, his voice terse.  
  
You turned off the music, leaned down and yanked the machine’s cord out of the wall and held it up as proof like you were a witness in a courtroom with the proverbial smoking gun, “Go downstairs, take a shower, and wait for me.”  
  
A drop of sweat ran down Brian’s forehead as he stared at you, “You said you didn’t want me so I made other plans.”  
  
Still gripping the cord, you schooled him, “This is not a plan; this is idiotic. You’re not going to get drunk while you’re working out.”  
  
Brian’s face produced a tiny smile that was just a little bit evil, “You were _watching_ me.” He said this with pride; weirdly, it was the first almost-positive energy you’d felt for him since the ride to work this morning.  
  
“Maybe,” you conceded.  
  
“So you do want me.”  
  
“I want you to go downstairs, take a shower, and wait for me. That’s what I want.”  
  
Brian dismounted the machine and threw the towel over his shoulder, “Guess I’ll see you in a little while.” You listened as he walked down the first set of stairs, walked to the basement door, and then descended that staircase. You turned off the light as you left the gym, the bottle of whiskey still dangling from your fingers.  
  
As you made flight reservations for the following morning, you pondered how normal married couples would handle something like this _._ Indeed, you pondered how you might handle it married to anyone but Brian. You could see yourself screaming at this other partner, demanding an answer, an explanation for whatever had crawled so far up his ass and died.  
  
But that doesn’t work in this particular marriage. That tactic sends Brian deeper in his hole, or worse, erodes your very connection to him. No, your job is to observe and figure out what resources are needed and how to allocate them to mitigate the damage. All of this occurs right in front of Brian because he’s a rare bird: a control freak with a very flexible suspension of disbelief.  
  
************  
  
When you opened the dungeon door twenty minutes later, you expected to see Brian naked, his body sprawled on the bed, porn on the flat screen and his dick in his hand. Instead, you opened the door only to have it pushed back at you as you were admonished, “Whoa. I’m right here.”  
  
“Sorry,” you said as you stepped into the room. Brian was kneeling in the corner in his black robe. “What are you doing?” you asked him.  
  
“You said that some of your best experiences start in the corner,” he offered. “I figured you were watching,” Brian said referencing the fact that had you been, you wouldn’t have bumped him with the door.  
  
“No, no, I wasn’t,” you said, “I was finishing up some stuff.” You pushed the door closed behind you and glanced around the room. The fireplace was on along with one lamp so the room was semi-lit. You didn’t have a plan, so you just sat down beside him, your back against the wall so you were almost facing him. You put your hand on his thigh, “Your mood seems to have lightened a bit.”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
“We’re flying to New York in the morning, same flight as last week, and you’re going to meet with Jon in person for two hours instead of screen-to-screen.”  
  
“You cleared this with Ted?” Brian asked, his eyes fixated on the wall in front of him.  
  
“Yes, and Clive is having a small event at the gallery, so we’ll go Friday night so I can schmooze a little. How drunk are you?” you asked.  
  
“Twenty-five percent,” Brian answered.  
  
“Well,” you smiled, “That’s better than a hundred.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
Your hand meandered the length of his thigh and then pushed the silky material away, “I know you had a bad day. I don’t want to re-litigate it. From now until we get up tomorrow morning, I want you to have a different experience--”  
  
“Me, too,” Brian interrupted.  
  
“I want to help you escape in a different way than working out while getting intoxicated.”  
  
Brian’s hand touched yours, briefly at first, and then held it as your quiet conversation continued, “Okay, sounds good.”  
  
“You didn’t do your inventory for me, did you?”  
  
Brian shook his head, “No; I’m not in a good place to do it. I didn’t do the Amazon list either.”  
  
“That’s okay. We’ll just go slow, and if at any time, you don’t want to be down here, you just tell me, okay?”  
  
Brian took in a deep breath, exhaled, and then nodded and said, “I’m good.”  
  
*********** **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** Your morning had royally sucked. You’d finally gotten yourself to a place where you felt ready to talk with Cynthia and set up a transition plan for her leaving Kinnetik for good. You were secretly terrified that you’d break down during this meeting and actually fucking cry in front of her, and trying to keep all of your emotions in check had exhausted you. That exhaustion turned to rage when you got to see your plans ruined in front of your face by the welcoming committee.  
  
But that Thursday in the mid-afternoon, Justin begins to transform your day. You lie naked on your back in your dungeon bed, your eyes closed, your mind focused on Justin’s voice and nothing more. He’s giving you a gift that you probably don’t even deserve. His voice is calm, lowered, and steady…  
  
“Brian, now that your eyes are closed, I want you to imagine that you’re somewhere else, that you’re floating on the top of calm, deep blue sea. There’s no land around you. This floating requires no effort on your part whatsoever.”  
  
…...  
  
His finger trails over your lips. “If any part of your body feels tense, I want you to find it and let it go.” You make a fist with both hands and then let them unravel, and then flex your feet before letting the tension out again. He’s beside you, lying there, and you tilt your head and let it rest against his arm. “Good,” he says, “Just lean on me.”  
  
…….  
  
His hand rests on the side of your face; it’s warm and pleasing. “Anything that bothers you, something physical or emotional or mental, I want you to imagine now that it’s literally dangling in a sack in the water; it’s attached to you; you can feel it pulling on you.”  
  
Your right arm feels suddenly heavy.  
  
“I want you to take a deep breath and let each one of those heavy bags go; let them fall away from you and float to the bottom of the sea. It may take a breath or two for each one, but that’s okay. Just take all the time you need--inhale and exhale--and let the release happen.”  
  
…...  
  
Slowly and almost magically, tiny knots erupt inside you and then let go and disappear. Justin is stroking your hair, your face and you’re conscious of an urge to disappear inside him, to melt and seep through his skin and just live there inside his pores….watching the world from a safe place. After several minutes pass like this, you feel completely undone, and again, Justin’s voice slides into your awareness, “On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel right now?”  
  
“Ten,” you sigh.  
  
“And how much of that is the whiskey?”  
  
“What whiskey?” you say.  
  
Justin laughs a little, “Give me a word to describe how you feel.”  
  
You think for a moment and respond honestly, “Grateful.”  
  
Justin kisses you, and you moan, your eyes still closed. You hear the shuffling sounds of his clothing coming off which is odd because you forgot he was dressed. He presses against you as he undoes his pants, guiding your hand to his underwear. He’s hard...very hard. You slip your hand inside the soft cotton and feel the slick sign of his arousal. You feel Justin’s hands on your face, both of them, seeking your attention, and you blink your eyes open and stare at him. His eyes never leave your face, but his thumb traces your bottom lip and then dips inside your mouth, “You owe me something."  
  
"Fuck my face," you hear yourself say, "Please."  
  
Justin sighs and presses your face against his now bare chest so you can kiss your way down to his cock. He’s holding his breath as you peel his underwear off; he moans loudly as you begin to taste him, securing his leg over your shoulder to give him leverage as his warm, smooth cock glides over your tongue. He traps you there along with his scent which swirls around your head as you suck him. “You beautiful man,” he says, “You beautiful, god…uh--.”  
  
You begin to hum, low and deep, and his hand knots in your hair; he tugs you away and pulls back letting his cock dance on your lips during the private concert. You relax your throat for the inevitable re-entry, for the impending thrust you’ll swallow because he wants to come now. You let his balls rest in your palm until you feel the hot streaks of cum hit the back of your tongue. Justin’s body contracts in ecstasy and curls around your head until he can figure out how to retract that motion. Eventually, his body elongates again, spreading out on the bed, his breathing a slave to the rapid rise and fall in his lungs.  
  
“You haven’t blown me like that in quite awhile,” he says, “Jesus Christ.”  
  
You think about what he says, whether or not it’s true and why that could be, and then the answer begins to fog up your mind, quieting your other thoughts…  
  
“I wanted to please you,” you say, the words only forming meaning as they left your lips.  
  
Justin rolls onto his side, his head propped up on his hand, “Past tense?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You said that in the past tense,” he reiterates.  
  
You have to think for a minute before concluding, “No, not past tense. I _want_ to please you.”  
  
Justin leans in and kisses you, “Better answer." You lie back on the bed, and Justin’s very alert again; he’s suspiciously recovered rather quickly from that car wreck of an orgasm you just gave him. He has a slightly devious look on his face. A very small pocket of fear opens inside you and secretly, you chastise it and tell it to go away. He looks at you in that clear blue-eyed way only he can, a smile on his face and asks, “Do you know what edging is?”  
  
You think for a moment, “Yes.”  
  
“Good. I went ahead and got my orgasm out of the way for now so I can concentrate on yours.”  
  
“Okay,” you say trying to hide your trepidation about this new experience.  
  
“So, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to tie you up first,” Justin says. You laugh when he says this because he says it in the same voice he’d use if he was going to run to the store to get something he needs for a recipe he was making--totally nonchalant. Soon, he’s sitting on your chest with a skein of white rope in his hands. “I watched a video--” he starts.  
  
“On Release’s website, no doubt.”  
  
“Yep,” he agrees as he begins to wrap the rope around your wrists and then bind them together before tying them to the headboard. You want to grab his ass and squeeze, but you can’t. He knows what he’s doing; he probably watched the video a hundred times. “Are you comfortable?” he asks once he has you strung up.  
  
“So far.” You give his work a strong pull, and it doesn’t give. You’re going nowhere, and he knows it. He fucking loves it.  
  
“Do you approve?” he asks.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You thought I couldn’t handle this?” he prods.  
  
“No, I never thought that.” (Might as well be perfectly honest.)  
  
“Good,” he says as he lays his body on top of yours, his lips brushing the skin behind your ear as he whispers, “ _I’m going to torture the fuck out of you, Brian._ ” You get a chill right through to your core; you feel your ass tighten. Goose bumps form on your arms and Justin rubs them, “You don’t need to be nervous.” He kisses you, and then pulls back, “Unless you want to be.” And then he reaches down for your cock which is interested in this conversation and says, “I think maybe you do.” He seems to sense the tension you’re trying to hide, “I want this to be a good experience for you; you need to tell me if it’s not, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” you agree.  
  
“You can trust me, Brian. Just like I trust you.”  
  
And when he says this to you, you take solace in the reciprocity and equanimity, even as he’s unhooking your bound together hands from the headboard and telling you, “You’re going to start on your stomach tonight.” And with his guidance, you flip over and then feel him re-hook your hands to the bed frame, only now they drop low, your arms making contact with the sheets. He pulls the pillow out from under your head, “I don’t want you to suffocate...too soon.” Your eyes widen at his statement, but he doesn’t see as he lays on top of you again and sweeps your hair off the back of your neck; you close your eyes as he kisses you there and then you feel his fingertips dance over your shoulder blades as his body begins to slip away from you. Your fingers loop in and out of the wrought iron design of the bed frame, looking to hang on to anything.  
  
As his face reaches the curve of your lower back, he asks you, “How many times today did you think about me fucking you?”  
  
“Several,” you say with a swallow.  
  
“Did you think about this? About me rimming you?”  
  
“ _Yes,_ ” you exhale as you feel your ass spread open, feeling his breath inches from where you want it. He offers you his tongue, just barely, wetting your cheeks as he settles between your legs. He licks you above your balls, his tongue trailing slowly upward as you struggle to find some sort of comfortable position for this pleasure. Eventually, you just let your face smash into the mattress because the intimately warm sensation you’re experiencing won’t help you do anything else.  
  
You don’t even raise your face until there’s somehow lube in the situation, and it demands that you pop up sharply and grab a breath out of the air before struggling again to find a comfortable way to enjoy the stroking your cock is getting. You manage to prop yourself up crookedly on one knee to enjoy the runway of Justin’s tongue on your asshole as your cock beads in his hand. He keeps this up until you’re panting and thrusting in this awkward way. And then the weight of his body forces you down again, and he’s inside you while the black cotton sheets you’re lying on are clenched between your teeth. He feels the rest of your body start to follow suit, and that’s it….  
  
He stops.  
  
He pulls out.  
  
 _No._  
  
You groan loudly; your balls are suspended and aching. You feel him unhook you, and you instinctively curl into a ball, your bound fists searching for your cock. He stops your hands, “You can rest your arms, but don’t touch yourself.”  
  
You feel like you climbed a nine story roller coaster and just started to descend when everything stopped. The drop in your stomach reverses and almost makes you gag. “You’re a little evil switch, you know that?”  
  
Justin grins, “Shhh. That’s a secret.”  
  
“Not anymore, Sunshine. Not anymore.”  
  
“Hush,” he tells you, “On your back.”  
  
Again, he hooks your hands to the bed frame, and he starts round two of purposely vicious foreplay followed by digital penetration. You try to think of it in these clinical terms so you won’t enjoy it as much, but it doesn’t work. You’re actually aroused by the goddamned vocabulary. You can’t tell him this though because this time, he puts a ball gag in your mouth because, “It’s kind of hot when you grunt.”  
  
At one point, you get almost physically combative with him, because the way he’s massaging your cock and your prostate at the same time is fucking maddening. He doesn’t like this display, so he stops and slithers up your chest and licks the drool forming around your lips. “If you fight me, I will keep this up for another hour, Brian.”  
  
“Uh Uh,” you attempt in protest, but at least now you know there’s some kind of time limit to this torture. And then like the ingratiating serpent he’s become, he starts fucking you again, only now his face is right above yours and your knees are up by your ears. “You can’t hide anything from me when I’m inside you,” he says sweetly, “I can feel every twitch, every spasm, every inch of you. Now come for me.”  
  
……  
  
You don’t know why you fall for this trick because again, when your orgasm gets focused, he knows, so he pulls out, pops the gag off your face and kisses you hard. “I...am...not….happy,” you stammer out. You actually want to barf.  
  
“Oh, you’re okay,” Justin placates.  
  
“My balls feel betrayed,” you tell him.  
  
“You need to trust me,” he announces, and then he makes it your only option because he spins around, backs up and _sits_ on your face. You want to be mad, to ignore this, but you can’t resist him; your tongue is deep inside him before you can complain about what this is doing to your arms. He lays down on your torso and moans in response. You forget what you were mad about. You just watch his bottom rolling back and forth and listen to the beautiful symphony coming out of him. Your wrists ache by the time he stops, and he sees it on your face so he asks, “How bad?”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
He reaches up and hooks them to a lower loop, “Better?”  
  
“Yes, thank you.”  
  
“Are you ready to come for me?” Justin asks, his eyes sparkling like it’s Christmas morning.  
  
“Is this for real?”  
  
“Yes, it’s for real,” he reassures you, but you still don’t completely believe him.  
  
You ready your mind to be fucked one last time, but his hips stop above your cock, and you realize he’s going to ride you to the finish line. “How’s that?” he says as he positions your dick and then slides all the way down.  
  
“Delicious.”  
  
“Good,” he flirts as he starts to work your body to his advantage, his hips starting slow.  
  
“You feel amazing,” you tell him, all the while thinking in the back of your mind, _please don’t punk me._  
  
“I think you’re kind of a lightweight when it comes to edging,” he says from his perch on your penis.  
  
“Rude. That was rude.”  
  
“I think you need _a lot_ more practice in orgasm denial.”  
  
“As long as it’s not tonight.”  
  
“It’s not tonight,” he promises.  
  
“I want to touch you,” you say, the words eeking out before you think about them.  
  
“After you come.”  
  
His hands land on the sheets, one next to each of your ears, and he hunkers down and focuses on his own pleasure, on his second orgasm of the night. “I can’t draw this out,” you tell him sounding kind of desperate.  
  
“It’s okay. I’m ready.”  
  
Somehow your hips rise up off the sheets a little, and you look down the plateau of your torso and watch the pumping motion and see the shine of sex on your cock. Meanwhile, Justin is unhooking you, and when he knows that you’re almost done for, he picks up a pillow and smashes it on your face. You aren't prepared for this; you squirm, gasping for air, fighting back against the pressure on your face. The pillowcase gets sucked into your mouth as your head jerks left and right, bouncing between Justin's hold on either side of your head. You can hear his muffled voice through the pillow stuffing, "You want to breathe, you come, Brian." You yell into the pillow as your cock unloads inside him. The pillow is tossed away, and Justin's face is pressing against yours as he oozes onto your stomach, your still-bound wrists laying on his back. Your bodies lie there, engtangled in stillness except for the mutual panting. Within a minute, Justin's sitting back up and unwinding the rope and looking concerned at the marks left behind on your wrists.  
  
“They were too tight,” he says, bringing each one to his mouth and kissing the blushing slash marks.  
  
“No, they were fine. I was giving them a good workout.”  
  
“Okay, if you say so,” he concedes.  
  
“C’mere,” you say, and he slips off of you and deposits himself in the sheets. You roll toward him, and he hugs you tightly.  
  
Quietly, he says, “I wish I could be the cure for every bad feeling you ever have.”  
  
“You are,” you say.  
  
Neither of you continue the conversation verbally until maybe fifteen minutes later when Justin asks you, “The maids come tomorrow. Think it’s okay if I let them take care of this bed?”  
  
“Yeah, but they need to sign a non-disclosure because they clean every house on this street.”  
  
“True. Nevermind.”  
  
You could tease him about being too domestic, but he likes it. It’s how he takes care of you. It hadn’t really occurred to you until you’d been married to him for a couple years that part of making this work was accepting that the two of you need different things from each other. Justin, meanwhile, is still thinking about sex, commenting as he strokes you, “You’re still hard. Jeesh.”  
  
"You've got me a little worked up over here."  
  
“Oh yeah,” he looks at the clock, it’s almost six, “Well, it’s still early.”  
  
“My balls feel like it’s midnight, okay?”  
  
“They can’t tell time,” Justin declares, “They’re just balls.”  
  
“Well, there’s only one of them, and he’s been under a lot of pressure lately.”  
  
Justin starts laughing as he feels around for the legitimate testicle. He tucks his head under the sheets, apologizes to it and kisses it. When he re-surfaces, you pull his hand away, “You’re such a twat, and he doesn’t accept your apology anyway.”  
  
Justin is far too gleeful, “Well, then he _is_ the smart one because I was lying.”  
  
“He’s not laughing,” you say on behalf of half of your sac.  
  
“He’s hurt, isn’t he?” Justin prods.  
  
“Devastated.”  
  
“I put him through a lot tonight; I feel bad.”  
  
“You should.”  
  
“Maybe I’ll give him a ‘spa day’ soon.You know, a good massage, a little teeny cucumber slice, just to show my appreciation.”  
  
“He wants to know if there’ll be a happy ending.”  
  
“Absolutely. Guaranteed.”  
  
“He’s on board then.”  
  
…….  
  
A little later, you re-sheet the bed yourself while Justin disappears upstairs to make dinner. As your sheets rumble in the dryer, Justin takes you back upstairs and gives you a very thorough massage that makes you feel drunk again. “I don’t know how you do that,” you tell him, “Unless you’ve had training I don’t know about.”  
  
“Nope. I just know your body; plus, it’s a little selfish because you are so ungodly beautiful sprawled out like this.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re very welcome,” Justin says as he lies down on top of you.  
  
With Justin inside you, your struggles seem less foreboding; your mood disturbances seem powerless and far away. With Justin inside you, you feel grounded to something, tethered to a reality that doesn’t demand anything from you but this. You end up on your back with your feet lodged beneath his ass so you can keep him deep inside you as your bodies negotiate for the perfect amount of leverage. His arms have slipped under your shoulders and wrapped around so you can see his fingers curling around his shoulders in your peripheral vision.  
  
The subsequent pounding you get feels appropriate and well deserved.  
  
“Stay,” you tell him, keeping your body clutched around his, “Stay inside me.”  
  
“Okay,” he says as he kisses your cheek.


	18. Negotiations 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/1/16-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 19**

****BRIAN’S POV**  
** _3:37 a.m. Friday morning_  
  
You’ve been awake for about fifty minutes, a tumultuous fifty minutes that Justin will know nothing about until a few minutes from now. You’ve made the decision to try and tell him about what’s gotten you so out of sorts; he’s restless beside you, restless and dreaming, burrowing his head into his pillow. Five minutes ago, you rolled on your side and just put your hand on his back, lightly, hoping that maybe you could just still him, but nothing changed; his unconscious mind is still doing the tango. You roll back onto your back and stare at the ceiling, then out your bedroom window, then back at the overly intricate ceiling fan rotating above your head. You paid way too much for that thing. His mumbling gets loud; you make out the word, “ _No._ ”  
  
And then he’s awake. Confused, out of it, rubbing his face, his eyes, and about to lie back down when he catches your eye, when he realizes you’re wide awake. He pauses, his gestures stopped, as he asks an obvious question in a whisper, “ _You’re awake_?”  
  
“Yeah,” you say, but you don’t look right at him. It takes him milliseconds to figure out why, his finger rests under your eye and then trails down your cheek, “You’re crying?”  
  
“Was,” you say.  
  
Justin’s arms begin attempting to circle you, to pull you in, but you make your body play dead. “What?” he says rejecting your response and continuing to tug on you, “Come here, come on.” And still, you refuse, your body heavy and immobile.  
  
“Don’t,” you say, “I can’t right now.”  
  
“Okay, well, I have to pee. I’ll be right back.”  
  
When you hear him urinating, you yank up the sheet and use it to wipe your face clean. He leaves the light on in the bathroom on the way back, leaves the door cracked just a little to illuminate the situation. As he shuffles back to bed, he asks, “Bad dream? I was dreaming like crazy.”  
  
“You were burning calories, you were so restless,” you tell him, “But I wasn’t dreaming.”  
  
“Okay, well, do you want to talk about it?” he asks.  
  
“No...but I’m going to.” By this time, he’s right beside you, his head resting on his hand, his other hand rubbing your chest as you warn him, “You’re not going to be happy with me.”  
  
“If you’re sick, and you lied to me, I’m going to beat you senseless, Brian.”  
  
“I’m not sick.”  
  
“Did you cheat?”  
  
You sigh, “No, I would never do that. You never have to ask me that for the rest of my life, Jesus.”  
  
“Okay, then, I can handle whatever you need to say. I’m a grown man.”  
  
You take a deep breath, and then another, and tell a truth that you’d buried deep, deep, deep in your emotional closet, “...Joan is dead.”  
  
Justin looks perplexed for a minute and then his brain catches up, “Joan? Wait...your mom? Your mom is dead? She died? Oh god, when?”  
  
“Five months ago,” you say.  
  
“ _Five_ months ago? What? When?”  
  
“Beginning of September.”  
  
“How? What the hell?”  
  
“I found her dead body.”  
  
Justin begins to scramble, to get to a sitting position, his criss-crossed knees poking you, “What do you mean you found her dead body, Brian?”  
  
“Okay, back in late August, Clare was calling me, telling me that Mom was having a hard time, that she was depressed; she wanted me to go check on her.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I didn’t go at first; I didn’t want to. I waited about a week a half, and then Clare started texting the shit out of me, driving me fucking nuts, so I waited until a Wednesday morning in September when I knew she’d be at her fucking bible study and drove by the house. Her car was still there.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I didn’t want to see her; I didn’t want to talk to her, and I was fucking pissed at Clare for guilting me into--”  
  
“Well, she’s in Wisconsin; you live here. It makes sense.”  
  
“I rang; she didn’t answer. I let myself in through the back porch, and I found her dead on the kitchen floor.” The words fall out of your mouth like rocks off a cliff and you feel both their weight and the freedom from letting them go. Justin’s shock hangs in the air. “Oh god,” he says, “God, I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“She’d fallen and hit her head. She bled out.”  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“And then I left.”  
  
“You _left_?”  
  
You laugh awkwardly as this is in no way funny, “I left and went back to work.”  
  
“Jesus, Brian.”  
  
“At the end of that workday, I called 911. I met the ambulance at her house.”  
  
“Who else did you tell besides 911?” Justin asks.  
  
“Clare, no one else. I paid for everything but didn’t go to the funeral.”  
  
“Brian--- I just--- I just don’t under--”  
  
“I sold her house, split the money with Clare, let some company come and get all her shit. It reeked of booze and martyrdom.”  
  
…….  
  
…....  
  
In the silence, you can feel the pain you’re causing Justin; you can feel it cutting into him and leaving marks behind.  
  
…...  
  
Finally, he speaks, “I don’t want to make this about me, Brian, but someday I’m going to explain to you how much this hurts me, and you’re going to listen.”  
  
“I will. I’m not a good person, Justin. I’m actually pretty horrible.”  
  
“Is that your excuse? You’re a horrible person?”  
  
“Unfortunately, yes.”  
  
“Well, that’s pathetic.”  
  
“I know, okay? I fucking already know.”  
  
*************  
Justin flops back down on your bed, gathers the bulk of the comforter and pulls it toward him, his body reluctantly curling into a ball, but he’s still facing you and staring at you like you’re a rare species in a zoo he’s never visited.  
  
You try to make amends which you will never admit to being very good at. “I couldn’t tell you when it happened--” you try.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because, you’d be the person you always are. You’d feel bad for me and take care of me and help me--”  
  
“And you’re a horrible person, so you don’t deserve any of that, right?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“You hate your mother so you don’t deserve anyone’s love then? You don’t deserve it and you won’t accept it?”  
  
“I know you’re mad. You have a right to be.”  
  
Justin exhales heavily, and then makes an unexpected announcement for this time of the early morning, “Okay, that’s it. We’re not doing this anymore.” He tosses the comforter away and sits up during his declaration.  
  
You don’t know what he means, and now he’s turning the overhead light on, and you’re squinting and shielding your eyes, “What are you doing?”  
  
“Wake yourself up,” he says like he’s part drill sergeant, and then he goes back into the bathroom and turns on the sink. You sit up and just watch him as he walks back and forth between your bathroom and the linen closet right outside your bedroom. He throws a pile of towels on the bed and disappears back into the bathroom. You see him bend down and open a cabinet, and then pop back up, turn off the water and gather things before coming back to bed. You wonder if maybe he’s so angry that he’s decided to waterboard you. Right now. In your own bed. Instead, he emerges with all of his shaving stuff, everything you usually prepare for him. “We’re doing this now?” you ask him. This is weird.  
  
“Yep, or would you rather just lay there and cry some more?”  
  
“I’m done crying,” you say, kind of freaking out because that’s a sentence you’ve _never_ spoken to Justin in your entire life.  
  
“Good,” he says as he lays down on the towels, “Quit focusing on yourself and focus on me.”  
  
“Okay, whatever you say,” a dubious tone beneath your words.. You get up and position yourself between his legs and start to make this happen. Justin has one hand tucked behind his head, and the other one on his cock holding everything still.  
  
The room gets strangely quiet as you attend to your task. The disposition of the act has changed; he’s not submitting to you this time; you’re submitting to him, giving him what he wants. While the more sensitive areas are groomed, his body relaxes a bit, and you can tell he’s enjoying it like he always does. He asks you quietly, “How do you feel when you do this to me?”  
  
“Like I’m taking care of you,” you say without glancing at his face.  
  
“How does it feel to take care of me?” he presses. You start to look up at him, and he admonishes you, “No, no, don’t look at me. Just answer the question. How does it feel to take of me?”  
  
You watch your hand as you clear his pleasure trail, “It makes me kind of proud.” Your voice is more hesitant than you expect; it surprises you.  
  
“Proud of what?”  
  
“You should’ve been a journalist instead of an artist,” you muse.  
  
His legs squeeze your kneeling form, “Stop deflecting and just answer the question.”  
  
“Proud that you’re mine and that you want things...like this...from me.”  
  
“Proud that you love me, that I love you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You feel safe in that space?” he asks you.  
  
You look at him, and his expression is firm, so you just tell him the truth, “Yes, always.”  
  
“Somehow you found yourself outside that orbit, Brian. You lost your way a bit.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“When you see Jon later today, you need to try to figure out why that happened.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“And, Brian, whatever the reason is, it’s okay to tell me or not tell me. And I want you to remember something for me, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” you agree.  
  
“You don’t have to be perfect to deserve love.” He sees a cloud of panicked realization flash across your face, and he reads you like a book he knows by heart so he changes the subject, “You’re done, right? It feels much better.”  
  
“Yeah, all done.”  
  
“Thanks. Just lay down. I’ll put this stuff up.”  
  
Quickly, he goes about his task. You turn off the overhead light and breathe in the room, the smell of shaving cream, of him. Your eyes are closed when he’s finally back in bed, you accept the affection he offers, you let yourself need it.  
  
…...  
  
In the dark just a few minutes later, you let the dam break inside you because this is the place to do it; this is the place where all the levees have been reinforced; this is the one place where it’s okay not to evacuate…  
  
...and just let yourself ride out the much delayed eye of the storm.  
  
You hope you can save the storm surge for when you’re face to face with Jon; you’ve battered Justin enough.


	19. Negotiations 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/14/2017--Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 20**

**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
 _Friday afternoon, 4:33 pm, NYC_  
  
Jon’s waiting room is empty when you arrive. You expected Brian to be done by four, and he hadn’t texted you yet. Jon’s practice is in a shared two bedroom townhouse in the city; the bottom floor entry way is populated with a variety of non-matching chairs and recent magazines. When the therapy room door opens, you’re halfway up the stairs, clutching your scarf and the railing, a pensive feeling in your veins. You smell new paint.  
  
Only Jon emerges and hurriedly so, pushing his arms into his overcoat and coming down the stairs at an alarming clip until he spots you and stops. “Hey!” he says, sort of out of breath as his body lurches forward only to get pulled back, “We just finished; I’m sorry; I have to run. Mark just got back from London; I’ve gotta get home.”  
  
You’re more or less blocking his path, so you get a moment to ask, “It went okay? Is Brian okay?”  
  
In response, Jon gives you a doctorly smile, “Well, ‘okay’ is hard to quantify, but he did just put two and half hours into his own mental health, so that’s progress right? He’s upstairs; he’s waiting for you; he heard you on the stairs. Stay as long as you want. No other docs are here. Just lock up and text me, and I’ll set the alarm.”  
  
You agree and let him pass, but you don’t want to. You want to walk him back upstairs and hear his clinical diagnosis of Brian’s affliction. Instead, you thank him and wave him off, and then finish climbing the staircase. The therapy room door is halfway open; tentatively, you approach and peek inside. Brian’s sitting at the far end of one of two sofas, his head resting on his hand. “Hey,” he says as he waves you in.  
  
“Hey,” you offer. “How’d it go?” You can’t tell from his expression; it’s remarkably blank, but somehow he’s giving off a vulnerability you can’t quite quantify.  
  
“It’s a bit like peeling your skin off after a bad sunburn,” Brian says.  
  
“You feel raw?” you ask.  
  
“Pretty much.” You sit on the opposite sofa, tossing your coat and scarf on the far end because Brian’s making no overtures about leaving. “How’d it go at the gallery?” he asks.  
  
“Fine, fine. Everything’s ready for tonight.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Hard to focus, though,” you admit, “Because I’m worried about you.”  
  
“You don’t need to be,” Brian says.  
  
“It’s not your decision what I worry about.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“What you did was pretty fucked up, Brian.”  
  
“I know, but I think I more or less got to the heart of it today.”  
  
You exhale in relief, “Seriously? Care to elaborate?”  
  
“Well, it doesn’t deserve like a drum roll or a parade or anything; it just turns out that I have a fairly acute and surprisingly commonplace fear of abandonment.”  
  
“Keep going,” you say, sitting back and getting comfortable on the sofa.  
  
“I’ll give you the cliff notes. My parents were maladapted creatures who hated each other. There was no love in our family, no actual bond. And because there was no love--”  
  
“Fear grew instead,” you say.  
  
“You’re very good. Maybe I should pay you the big bucks,” he laughs.  
  
“Maybe you should because I’m the one that got you here, especially after this morning. You had three shots of whiskey before we left for the airport.”  
  
“I had one here, too,” he admits.  
  
“Brian!”  
  
“Well, Jon keeps it in his desk; he offered.”  
  
“So, I guess we’re not filing this witch doctor claim with our insurance,” you muse.  
  
“Probably not. But anyway, I always thought and, frankly, was always told, that I have a fear of commitment, but I don’t. It’s abandonment.”  
  
“I would actually agree with that.”  
  
“You’re one of the only people who understood that about me, even before I did,” Brian admits.  
  
“That’s why you love me,” you say with a smile.  
  
“And why I’m so freaked out that I did this, and that I hid it from you.”  
  
“Well, nobody knows you did it but you, me and now Jon and your dead mother, and if she was actually _right_ all these years about having a first class ticket to heaven, you don’t need to stress about it because everybody up there is _all_ about forgiveness.”  
  
“Exactly, but I took this way too far, way too far, and before I say anything else, I want you to know that I told Jon about what we do...you know...the dungeon and stuff.”  
  
“Brian!” you snapped for the second time. “What did you tell him?”  
  
“He knows you like to be….spank--...across my lap.”  
  
You glance around for a thick book you can throw at his head. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”  
  
“It was pertinent, Justin. I swear. It came up organically.”  
  
“I just _saw_ him on the fucking stairs, Brian. Oh my god.” You hide your face in your hand.  
  
“He’s heard much worse, trust me. Most of his patients aren’t even getting laid, you know, probably. So, just think how fortunate we are.”  
  
“I hardly think that’s the point here, but whatever.”  
  
“Think about it: I’m a control freak because of my fear of abandonment. You love my inner control freak. It makes you come all over yourself.”  
  
“Did you bother to tell him that you’ve been pretty eager to submit as of late. That I’ve been fucking your brains out for a week, and you don’t just want it or tolerate it, you _need_ it.”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
You shake your head at him and acquiesce, “Okay, well, at least he got both sides. Go on.”  
  
Brian’s voice gets quieter, his brow furrows, “When Cynthia first started making noises about trying to have a baby, and then deciding to adopt, that’s the trigger; that’s when I started to go downhill.”  
  
“That was like a year ago.”  
  
“I know. It was kind of the last straw that then tied itself into a bitch of a knot. So, today, I basically figured out that Cynthia was a positive maternal figure in my life, that she took care of me, and the prospect of losing her was too much for me.”  
  
You nod, “Understandable.”  
  
“Yeah, and that it sent me in several directions at once. Into denial and avoidance at work, and into a dominant role with you which you just happen to really like, so I couldn’t see that I was using it as a coping skill.”  
  
“If you’re saying that our sex life is amazing because Cynthia decided to start a family, I don’t like that. Our sex life is what it is because of us.”  
  
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with our sex life or its motivations. I’m saying that it’s so good that it allows me to hide things sometimes. I could very easily turn off my anxiety about Cynthia leaving on my ride home because you were waiting for me with a delicious dinner and a beautiful bare ass.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Being in that role, taking care of you like that, it has wonderful side effects. It allows me to heal a part of myself that’s very broken, Justin.”  
  
“Well, that’s good, I guess.”  
  
“But as time passed and I knew I had to finally face the loss of Cynthia--”  
  
“You fell apart. That’s why you asked me to come to work with you.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I can see it when we’re at work; all of your coping skills are fried, Brian. _Very_ fried.”  
  
“Simple things overwhelm me,” he adds, and now he seems sad, so you get off your sofa and go sit next to him on his; your hand on his shoulder. “So when Joan decided to fucking go and die on me--”  
  
“And it’s all on you to deal with--”  
  
“I quit. I just fucking quit.” There’s true regret woven in Brian’s face.  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“I couldn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready for this wave of emotion; I was terrified of it.”  
  
Your fingers stroke the back of his neck, “Death is the ultimate abandonment, I guess.”  
  
“Yeah, and in a way, it’s the best one, right? Because you finally get the answer you’ve been afraid to receive, and yet, I couldn’t receive it.”  
  
“You did a lot in two and half hours, Brian. I’m proud of you.”  
  
“Don’t patronize me.”  
  
You lean in and whisper, “I’m _matronizing_ you.” He laughs; you turn his face toward yours and kiss him, just a sweet peck on the lips that he accepts. “We should probably go, get something to eat,” you offer.  
  
“I'm not hungry.”  
  
Moments pass and you get an idea, so you straddle Brian and suggest, “Well, we can stay here for a while.” You employ an unnecessary glance around the room as if confirming that the two of you are alone.  
  
Brian plays delightfully dumb, “And do what?”  
  
“Of course, if we stay too long, Jon will know something’s up because I’m supposed to text him when we’re gone so he can set the alarm.”  
  
“Well, this is a therapy room. Will will be engaging in anything therapeutic?” he asks you.  
  
You lean in right next to his ear and whisper, “Absolutely. What I’m about to do to you is only available by prescription.”  
  
“What if you give it to me, and I get addicted to it?” Brian muses.  
  
You hold his chin in your hand, “Oh, don’t worry; you already are.”  
  
***********  
  
As you exit Jon’s office in a post-coital fog, you and Brian decide to walk the six blocks to the hotel because the cold air feels like a chilled necessity forcing itself into your lungs. Your hand’s looped in Brian’s coated arm and as you stop before crossing a street, Brian turns to you and says, “Thanks for getting me to a doctor.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
“I sort of can’t believe that I just unloaded in there like that.”  
  
“Well, believe it; it’s still in my ass.”  
  
Brian tugs at your arm, rolling his eyes at you, “That was a euphemism for therapy, not sex.”  
  
“Oh, well, see? It’s just what you needed, but don’t think shit like this is just cured in one long session.”  
  
“I know, and it’s kind of like a conflict of interest because we’re friends with him, though,” he points out.  
  
“It was an emergency, and you have a good rapport with him.”  
  
“That’s a ‘Justin-ification.’”  
  
“Well, Jon could’ve said no; he could’ve told us to go see someone else. He didn’t do that,” you remind him.  
  
“He said you make him feel like a pediatrician when you call him about me.”  
  
You turn to make eye contact with Brian before you spoke, “You were scaring the shit out of me, Brian, even before you told me about your mom. I knew something major was wrong; I probably sounded like a helicopter mommy because I felt like you needed one. You were having meltdowns over people’s _lunch plans._ ”  
  
“I know.”  
  
You change the subject, “Maybe when we get back home, we can go to the cemetery and visit your mom’s grave?”  
  
“Um, I don’t know if I can do that yet. Two more blocks to the hotel.”  
  
“Does Debbie even know you lost your mom?”  
  
“No. Just you and Clare and whoever reads Joan’s church bulletin.”  
  
“See, that’s the thing, right there. You didn’t tell anybody because you didn’t want anybody to take care of you...not even for a day.” You stop on the sidewalk, and Brian turns and tries to pull you along, but you stay put and hug him instead. The two of you stand in the middle of the sidewalk amid random snowflakes and irritated pedestrians. Quietly, you say, “I’m going to go even if you don’t. She’s your mom, and I want to say goodbye.”  
  
“You barely knew her,” Brian says.  
  
“I know, but she made you, so she did _something_ right.”  
  
**************  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Justin holds your hand in the elevator as you enter your hotel room. Something about his demeanor on the sidewalk moments earlier has already changed. He’s no longer hanging on your arm but rather leading the way back into your suite. You both shed your coats and scarves as Justin positions himself on the edge of the bed, a serious expression on his face as he goes through his phone. It’s lighting up like crazy. You flop down next to him and nudge him so you can rest your head in his lap. He smiles down at you and then goes back to reviewing his texts. “Sorry,” he says, his palm on your chest, “Clive just sent out a group text to all my regulars.”  
  
“Public relations,” you say.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
His phone chimes on and off, faintly, as you glance at yours. You have nothing requiring immediate attention, so you curl up against him and slip your hand under his sweater. “There’s gonna be a decent crowd there tonight,” Justin says.  
  
“It’s probably tripled because you’ll be there in person, right?”  
  
Justin grins, “Yeah.” You feel a sense of pride as you watch him work.  
  
“‘Cause one time you did a video conference thing, right?” you ask.  
  
“Yeah, one year when I didn’t feel like doing the whole schmoozing thing, but my sales suffer when I do that.”  
  
“They want to see you and your ass in person, I’m sure.”  
  
“Like I care as long as they buy my work.”  
  
“They’re gonna have food there right?”  
  
“Wine, cheese, crackers and shit,” Justin says.  
  
“I’m excited to go,” you tell him. “Do you care if I snooze for a bit? We have time, don’t we?”  
  
Justin smiles down at you, “Yeah, we have time. A nap will do you good; you didn’t sleep well last night.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I might just run down to the restaurant and eat a little something; do you want me to bring you a snack?”  
  
You yawn, “Yeah, sure. You know what I like.”  
  
“Okay,” Justin says as he gets up and covers you with a blanket from the end of the bed. He leans down and deposits a perfunctory kiss on your lips, “Get some rest. I’ll wake you up in plenty of time.”  
  
“Preesh.”  
  
“I hate that word.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Justin closes the curtains, stuffs his phone in his back pocket and seconds later you hear the door to the room close with a _thud._ You silent your phone and lay it face down beside you, close your eyes, and begin to drift away.  
  
Somewhere halfway between sleep and wakefulness, your mind finds a parking place. You begin to flip through images of the last week, the last month, finding moments bathed in Velcro to cling to: the weird comfort of being forced to sit in a corner, a hooded Justin eating your ass, being told to clean up the mess he made in the dungeon. A need begins to break through the surface of your thoughts, pushing its way up like a sprout seeking sunlight: _I want him._ When he approaches you in your lucidity, you feel your body let go, your arms stretching like eternal branches to get to him, to hold him, a glow outlining his form. He’s the keeper of warmth; he owns it but he shares; he touches your skin and your blood flows faster.  
  
“Fuck me.”  
  
The timber of your own voice chafes at your grasp of this barely-there state and raises your head from the pillow; for a few seconds, you blink in confusion and deny your brain access to any wakefulness because he’s not a part of that. You tuck your head beneath the blanket and return to the welcoming light. He smiles when you come back to him; he agrees to the intimacy you crave, but he never touches you.  
  
He just watches you lie on your back, your legs bent and spread, and you don’t understand how you can feel him inside you when he’s standing several feet away. Every thrust you feel shoves the pernicious heat further inside you; you reach out for him, feel the warmth intensify, and he smiles as he floats just out of reach.  
  
 _‘You’re going to burn me up from the inside.’  
  
‘I’m going to give you what you want,’ he says, his voice hollow.  
  
‘I don’t know what I want.’  
  
‘Yes, you do. You just didn’t expect a desire like this. I’m going to let it consume you.’  
  
‘Why?’  
  
‘Because once you burn down, you’ll be able to rise again. It’s what you need.’_  
  
You beg this Justin to touch you when you start to come, but he continues to hover too far away. Your orgasm rips through you like a jagged knife. It hurts in the most wonderful way; your body contorts in response; you lose the ability to breathe on your own…  
  
You wake up gasping and sweating; your hair plastered to your head. You expect to feel a wetness somewhere, but there’s nothing to evidence what you just felt. Outside the door of your room, you can hear Justin on the phone. His voice is muffled, but you can make out enough to hear the pitch rise as he says goodbye. You pant on the mattress, your blanket thrown aside as you listen for the lock to click open.  
  
He moves like a thief in the semi-darkness, making sure to cushion the close of the door. There’s a brown paper bag with a logo on it swinging from his fingers. He moves carefully to the table by the window, sits the bag down and then begins to open the outer heavy curtain covering your view of the now darkened city.  
  
“What did you bring me?” you ask.  
  
His body jerks, “Jesus, you scared me, Brian. I thought I heard you snoring.” He sits beside you, turns the night stand lamp on and takes your appearance in. His hand brushes over your forehead, “Are you okay? You look like a fever just broke or something.”  
  
“I think I was dreaming some crazy shit.”  
  
He grins, “Ah, okay. I brought you….uh….some soup, a side salad, and a roll. You hungry?”  
  
Your stomach feels like an empty cavern, “Yeah, actually I am. Thanks.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
“What did you eat?” you ask.  
  
“Some chicken wrap appetizer things. They were okay.”  
  
As he opens the lid of your soup, he hands it to you, “Potato soup. It was that or french onion.”  
  
“Good call.” As you begin to devour it, you ask, “Who were you talking to?”  
  
“A customer who just bought two of paintings before the show even opens.”  
  
“Damn. How many does that leave?”  
  
“Nine.”  
  
“You’re gonna sell out, aren’t you?” you ask him.  
  
“Probably,” he says with a wide grin, “With any luck.”  
  
**************  
There are men of every shape and size at Justin’s show and a handful of women. Normally, you’d be sorting the fuckables from the not-so-fuckables (even if it’s just a mind game), but that’s not your job tonight. You’ve been assigned by Justin to keep Oliver company at the wine bar.  
  
“It’s a big step for him to able to attend a show,” Justin explains in the car on the way, “He works the bar because it gives him something to do, takes his mind off the anxiety.”  
  
“So, I have to babysit him?”  
  
“We just want you to sort of stay near him in case he gets this ‘deer in the headlights’ look. If that happens, tell him to go to Clive’s office, to get out of the room. You can work the bar if needed.”  
  
“Does he take meds for this social anxiety shit?” you ask.  
  
“Probably. He’s tried them all. And he should be good company; he’s extremely smart. You’ll like him.” Justin pats your thigh twice after saying this like you’re a good dog or something. You give him a sideways glance that he doesn’t even see.  
  
“I sort of wanted to hang out with you, you know,” you offer in protest.  
  
Justin turns, body and all, to face you and puts one hand on your forearm and reaches to put the other on the back of your neck; he pulls you down into a kiss that immediately makes you not want to get out of the car anytime soon. It’s a sticky kiss, one that takes umbrage upon ending. “That was hot,” you say quietly.  
  
“Listen to me, okay, and don’t argue. I’m thrilled that you’re coming with me tonight, but...your alpha male presence is not invited. You know, like those times I go to business-couple dinners with you, and don’t make waves with your potential clients. Understood?”  
  
“I wasn’t planning on fucking you in front of the appetizers,” you say.  
  
“I know; I just want you to do what I say, and if you do, you won’t regret it.”  
  
“Well, when you put it that way….”  
  
Justin smiles and kisses you again, and this time it’s even stickier and his hand is wiggling it’s way under your shirt. You stop it and warn him, “You’re making me crazy; I’ll fuck you right here.”  
  
“No, you won’t,” he dismisses, “But it’s cute that you think you can.” He has one leg outside on the sidewalk for that last line, and you have to send an urgent telegram to your dick to disarm immediately because it’s pretty much the height of alpha-maleness to walk into your partner’s art show with a brick in your pants.  
  
……  
  
Justin’s first in-person sale is to an old, fat, troll-like Manhattan fag. Justin thanks him with a hug and a few minutes of conversation. You admire how socially adept he is in this situation. When he bids the troll farewell, you think to yourself: _he probably has a really early bedtime._ While you’re making these observations, Oliver is chatting away at you, conversation you’re ignoring until you hear the word ‘therapy.’ You turn back toward him for clarification, “I’m sorry; what did you say?”  
  
“That _I’ve_ been in therapy for years. It really helped me.” It’s clear that he’s saying this to you to establish a bond, to let you know that he’s aware you had a session today.  
  
“So you still go even though you’re...kind of...well, I mean...you seem pretty okay to me?”  
  
Oliver smiles, “Yes, because it’s something I can rely on; it’s a place I know I can go to relieve my anxiety. It helps me cope with the panic knowing I have an outlet.”  
  
“How many years?” you ask.  
  
Oliver’s eyes flit away as he counts, “Fourteen, I think. A lot.”  
  
“That’s a small fortune,” you say.  
  
He nods, “Yes, but it’s more than worth it. Turning Clive into my defacto shrink was going to destroy our marriage.”  
  
You keep a trained eye on Justin during this talk; he’s in the middle of the small cluster of women, pointing and gesturing away. He pulls his phone out at one point, and seconds later a text pops up on yours. You look down somewhat discreetly, ‘ _U good?’_ it asks.  
  
You reply, ‘ _Watching u work your magic._ ’  
  
‘ _I meant what I said in the car._ ’  
  
‘ _Counting on it._ ’  
  
‘ _Meet me in the back bathroom in 5._ ’  
  
“ _K_ ’  
  
It buzzes again, ‘ _You go first if Oli’s ok._ ’  
  
You excuse yourself from Oliver, and head into the employees only section of the gallery where you wind your way through the metal shelving holding weird sculptures and past the canvases leaning against every bit of wall space. The restroom is single occupancy; you wait inside. In about two minutes, Justin enters and locks the door behind him; he says nothing; he just smiles and slings his arms around your neck as he stands on his tip toes. The damned kissing starts again, his tongue dancing like a serpent in your mouth. He grabs one of your hands and pushes it down his pants and moans, “ _Get me off._ ”  
  
“Does anyone here know I’m your husband?” you ask at an odd moment.  
  
“They all do. I told them you’re a little shy.”  
  
You laugh and look down to make sure the bathroom floor is clean enough to kneel on. “It was just cleaned,” Justin says because he’s reading your mind. “Okay,” you say as you lower yourself and simultaneously push him against the wall; his pants come down quickly. Justin holds his cock out in front of your face, rubs it across your lips, “Don’t fuck around,” he warns, “I wanna come right now.”  
  
At the end of that sentence, his cock is pressing against the back of your throat. You swallow all of him, your lips tight around the newly-shaven base of his cock. Justin cups your chin in his hand, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “I like it when you’re obedient,” he says. You moan in response. And then he takes one of your hands and pulls it to his ass, guiding it down to his asshole, but to your surprise, there’s something already there.  
  
He’s wearing a plug.  
  
You slip your finger beneath the disc-like base, feel how lubed his is, and slide your finger inside him right beside the toy. He yanks your hair and demands in a harsh whisper, “ _More._ ”  
  
You bring your middle finger inside the base, and Justin gets very still as you insert it and stretch him, your fingers in a V formation. When he comes it’s desperately hushed and forceful; you curl your fingers a bit, teasing his prostate. You swallow every drop moments later and stand up watching as Justin clearly thinks this interaction is over, the haste with which he zips up giving it away. You pin him against the wall, “Let me fuck you, please. I’ll be quick.”  
  
He refuses, “I’ve been gone too long.”  
  
You put your face an inch from his, “That plug is an insult to your ass; you deserve better.”  
  
He ignores your sales pitch, “I’ll go back first. If you need to jerk off, you can, but I’d prefer you didn’t.”  
  
“You’re torturing me,” you complain.  
  
“You should be flattered, not flustered.”  
  
You whisper in defiance, _“My cock is fucking aching.”_  
  
“Nobody ever died from that. I’ll see you out there,” Justin pauses, looks you up and down, and then continues, “And thank you for your services.”


	20. Negotiations 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12/23/17--Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 21**

**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
After his successful show, Justin wants to go out dancing to burn off the high he gets when a show sells out. Somehow, I -- (yes, me) -- convince him that we should just go back to the hotel and relax. I admit to him that I’m kind of tired.  
  
But now, we’re back here, and I’m very awake.  
  
We’re occupying the sofa in the outer room of our suite, and while Justin’s still fully clothed, I no longer am. Rather, I’m nude from the waist down, my head propped in his lap, my heart fluttering in my throat. Justin’s wonderfully hard; my cranium rests against his bulge. My mouth feels like a canvas before he’s painted it...dry and ready to be of use. He’s stroking my hair, staring down at me, telling me that someday he’d like to put my cock in a cage and then fuck me until I beg for mercy….  
  
At this point, it’s clear to me: we should’ve gone dancing.  
  
Instead, my legs are spread - one over the back of the couch, the other touching the floor. He’s commenting on my body, on my “form” he says, “I want you to feel special when I’m fucking you; I want you to feel chosen.”  
  
“I do. It’s like the rest of the world disappears.” He smiles and rubs my stomach; he ignores my cock as it just lays there aching for attention. I continue, “All I know is that I think about you being inside me all the time. I can feel you--”  
  
“When I’m not there?” he finishes for me.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Well, welcome to my life; I’ve had that sense memory since the night we met.”  
  
I speak into his sweatered stomach, “I’m not used to it yet. You could have mercy on me...maybe?”  
  
“That’s cute,” Justin says, “And also not happening.” Finally, he’s playing with the bead of precum on my cock as he says this, and he licks his finger slowly. I’m not sure what I want from Justin in this experience; I just know that I want something. There’s a desire there that won’t go away. I like that I can let go and give myself over to him, but stay present enough to bask in the pleasure he’s feeling while he’s inside me. I’ve started to go a few hours where I only think about him fucking me and never ponder the opposite.  
  
 _What’s happening to me?_  
  
And yet, I also know that if he showed even a hint of a desire to be across my lap, I could drop this mindset and slip right back into that one. It’s kind of scary how fluid this is all becoming for me.  
  
We talked about submission as a concept before my pants came off…  
  
“Did you enjoy our episode in the gallery bathroom?” he asked me.  
  
I smiled as I look up at him, “Yes. Did you?”  
  
“You were sucking me off, of course I liked it; that’s an idiotic question.”  
  
“No, it’s not because I wasn’t referring to that part of the experience,” I replied.  
  
“Ooh, you mean the power play?”  
  
“Correct.”  
  
“Yes, I liked it, but it’s more important to me that you did,” he confesses.  
  
“I did like it,” I admit, “...But also, submission is a tricky thing.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
I sighed, “There’s a huge continuum.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
I held his hand where it’s resting on my chest; I traced it with my fingertip as I spoke, “And then there’s the issue of playing the role your partner wants you to play or playing the role as who you think you are.”  
  
“Hmm,” Justin said, and then he slipped his hand inside my jeans. My pants came off so quickly, my underwear; I hardly remember it. The things I do for him….  
  
And now he’s giving instructions, and the scene is about to change.  
  
“I want you to take everything off,” he tells me as he’s wriggling out from under me.  
  
“Where are you going?” I ask.  
  
“I need to get ready. You have about five minutes. I want you completely undressed. You clothes should be folded and will stay out here. When I come back, I expect you to be on your knees on the floor with your arms tucked behind your back.” He uses his foot to tap the spot where he wants me to kneel. “You’re not to touch yourself, but I expect you to be as hard as you are right now.” Then he turns off all the lights and leaves me in almost total darkness except for the crack in the door that leads to the bedroom where the light is on. I follow his instructions and as I kneel, I watch that strip of light get periodically interrupted as he walks around the room. When he comes back, he’s wearing a robe, and he asks curtly, “Where’s your phone?”  
  
“On top of my clothes.”  
  
“I’m going to turn it off.”  
  
“I already did,” I tell him.  
  
“ _Off_ off?” he asks.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Justin looks mildly pleased as he returns to where I’m kneeling. He puts his hand on my shoulder, “First, we’re just going to accept the fact that you don’t know where you are on the sub continuum anymore than I know where I am on the dom. That’s just a fact.”  
  
“Fair point.”  
  
“And I’m deciding that we’re not going to stress about that. The boundaries will present themselves when we reach them.”  
  
“This is starting to sound like a TEDtalk.”  
  
He laughs at me but it’s a sweet laugh, “Okay. We’re going to go over a few positions first.”  
  
I don’t know what he means, but I just say, “Okay,” anyway.  
  
“The position you’re in right now is number two,” he says, and then he pushes on my shoulder, urging me forward until my face is on the rug, “Good. That’s number one.”  
  
“One,” I repeat into the hotel carpet.  
  
“Now, clasp your hands in front of your head instead of behind your back.” I do as instructed. “Lift your ass and spread your knees apart.” He knows exactly how vulnerable I feel in this moment, so he says nothing for a few seconds, and then he breaks it with, “And that’s position number three.”  
  
“Okay, three.”  
  
“And when that position is upside down and you’re on your back, “That’s four.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“Go back to two.”  
  
I use my abs to pull myself back up; I pull my legs back in and fold my arms behind my back. I’m eye level with Justin’s waist, with the knot in his robe. He asks me to open it for him, so I use my teeth to pull on the terry cloth strip until his robe falls open. He smiles down at me, his hand on my jaw as he asks, “Are you as hard as I am right now?” he asks. I only have to shift my eyes a few centimeters to see the erection I’d been laying against earlier. “Yes, we’re the same,” I say.  
  
“Good. Your obedience makes my cock feel like concrete,” Justin tells me, and I laugh a little. “What’s funny about that?” he asks.  
  
“It’s usually your _dis_ obedience that makes me feel that way.”  
  
He laughs too, but he warns me against distracting him. I take his point; I know exactly what he means; he feels the fluidity, too. Our mutual arousal in this upside down world is utter quicksand.  
  
He asks me to open my mouth, to think of my lips as if they’re my asshole, to suck him tightly while he explains what will happen next. “Tonight, I’m going to punish you first for what you withheld from me, and then use you for my pleasure.”  
  
I grunt and nod because I’ve created an air lock around his cock. I have to concentrate and breathe through my nose while he talks, “I brought a hairbrush, and I’m going to paddle you with it until I can tell that the pain’s too much.”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“And I’m going to fuck you as many times as I can, as hard as I can. And now that I’ve told you that, this is the time to say something if you think it’s too much.”  
  
I pull my mouth off his cock to respond, “I accept it. I deserve it.”  
  
He strokes himself with his cock a few inches from my face, “I’m glad to hear that. I know that bottoming alone is a submissive experience for you, but I think it would do you good to learn to channel a little pain.”  
  
“I want to,” I say, and I mean it. I’m actually kind of excited and unnerved at the same time.  
  
Justin grins down at me, steers his cock back into my mouth, and then laces his fingers behind my head. He face fucks me violently, making me gag and drool and choke. He stops before he comes, pulls out and wipes the saliva from my chin as my eyes water, “That’s what I’m going to do to your ass.”  
  
 _Jesus._  
  
He steadies me as I stand up which turns out to be a good thing because I'm extremely light-headed. I pause in the doorway, and Justin wraps one of my arms around his shoulders. “All the blood's in your dick,” he reassures me. I look up at the white sheeted bed. The comforter is folded back; the hairbrush is on the nightstand along with lube. “Lie down,” he tells me, “On your stomach.”  
  
I do as I’m told, and it’s like he can feel the nervousness inside me that I’m trying to ignore. He lies down beside me, his hand on my upper back, “I’m going to be so proud of you,” he says in an almost-whisper. “Anything you need, anything you need me to know--at any time---you tell me, okay?”  
  
“Okay….but there is one thing,” I say.  
  
“What’s that?” Justin asks, his finger drawing hair away from my face.  
  
“I’m truly sorry that I kept that shit from you.”  
  
“Thank you,” he says, “I accept your apology, but it’s too late for sorry.”  
  
“I know.” He’s right; it is.  
  
************  
“You should probably stuff a pillow underneath you,” Justin advises me, and as I do it, he jokes, “We’ll call this position three and half.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
 _What’s his obsession with numbered positions? Has he been reading a BDSM diagram all day?_  
  
He begins to run his hand down my back and over my ass, starting out lightly at first and then increasing the pressure until I’m moaning and starting to rock my hips into this pillow. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of pleasure to counteract this pain,” he says.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
He slaps my ass with his hand moving around until I’m sure my skin is starting to pink. He stops and picks up the lube. I can’t see what he’s doing, but soon I feel his thumb cold and wet as it slides between my cheeks; he pushes it inside me, and I moan and spread my legs for him. “That’s nice, Brian,” he says, “I like it when you confirm that you’re the whore I think you are.”  
  
I feel something drop in my stomach and respond, “Whoa,” without thinking.  
  
“You disagree?”  
  
“It just caught me off guard.”  
  
There’s a weird pleasure in Justin’s voice the next time he speaks, “You’ve been obsessed with calling me a whore lately, making me say it and all that, but it’s not me you’ve been talking about. It’s you; it’s projection.”  
  
Somehow I’m in my second therapy session of the day….  
  
He begins to spank me harder, angling up on my ass like every swat is supposed to remind me to keep my ass up for him, and then he stops again, and I want him to finger me again, but he doesn’t. He runs the hairbrush down my back on the bristle side which exacerbates the soreness I feel on my ass. He brushes my skin hard in every direction, the bristles scraping across the impacted area. I feel raw and anxious. I don’t do this to him. My skin begins to chafe; I start to reposition myself instinctively; something that my mind knows I would never tolerate from him, but my body doesn’t care about reciprocity right now.  
  
When he turns the brush and starts to paddle me, the pain is vicious. “Stay up, Brian,” he warns me because I keep sinking into this pillow to escape the pain.  
  
“I’m trying,” I say, but I’ve angered him so he yanks my thigh toward his body and swats my inner thigh so hard that it makes me curse, “Goddamn, _fuck._ ” The only positive thing I take from this is that I can feel him next to me; I can feel his movements before they create the pain. I can concentrate on that connection.  
  
He rakes the same skin with the bristles, and then flips the brush, and hits me again in the same place. My nose starts to run. I sniff and wipe it with my hand. And then I see him move in my peripheral vision, and he’s between my legs and shoving them further apart until I’m almost uncomfortable, and then I feel his hands on my ass, spreading me, and then his tongue between my cheeks. “ _Oh god,_ ” I moan as I try to rut against his face. He slaps my hip and says, “No. You stay still.”  
  
“You’re _eating_ me,” I whine like he doesn’t know what he’s doing and needs me to narrate. He’s kneading my sore skin as he does this, making all of my pain and pleasure signals misfire all over the place. “Justin…,” I warn him, “I might come.” (And somehow throw a tantrum at the same time?)  
  
He reaches between my legs and squeezes my balls in his hand hard. I yelp in pain. “If you come,” he says, “You will spend the night in the corner; I will not let you back in this bed.”  
  
 _Mean little twat…_  
  
Next, he’s back to the hairbrush again. I yell out after every swat; I could care less who hears me. Every inch of my skin from my the top of my ass to the back of knees is on fucking fire; my nerve endings feel like they’re going to short out. I grab another pillow that’s next to me, bury my face in it and scream. It feels so good to let it out. I feel the pillow between my legs get ripped away, and then I look through my arms to see Justin slide a black rubber cock ring down my dick. He works my balls in there, too, and now I can’t even articulate where the pain is actually coming from anymore. “Up to three,” he tells me, so I try to reconnect with the jelly-like muscles in my legs as he starts to fuck me. “This is fucking heaven,” he says, “It’s even better than you say it is.”  
  
 _I built him. He’s alive._  
  
When I moan, he comments about the insatiable whore that I am. Then he grabs my hips and fucks me like a jackhammer, so hard that the most I can do is try to maintain position three for him. After a couple of minutes, I feel his hand between my legs, “You ready to come for me?”  
  
“I’m afraid to,” I confess.  
  
“Hold still,” he says as he carefully removes the cock ring. The blood comes rushing back causing an ache I can’t even describe. Everything below my waist throbs as Justin thrusts inside me again. “I can feel how close you are, Brian,” he tells me, and I agree, grabbing a pillow and maneuvering my cock to come all over it. Justin puts his hands on my ass, his thumbs pulling my cheeks apart so he can watch what he’s doing to me, and when he’s about to come, he _pulls out_ and squirts all over my ass. “Oh, that’s beautiful,” he says sounding spent, “My glistening cum on your bright red ass.”  
  
He pulls out and orders me to stay in position. He moves away from me, and It takes me a minute to realize that he’s taking fucking _pictures_ of me with his phone. “No, don’t do that,” I say, my voice only halfway working.  
  
“Hush,” Justin says, “Lie down flat.” I do as he asks, and I want to look back at him and express my displeasure, but I don’t want my face in the fucking pictures. He poses me, too, sometimes with my legs apart, sometimes not, while I lie there and feel ashamed. Not of my actual offense, but that he’s figured out a way to make me disgusted with myself. He hovers over me to sit his phone back on the nightstand, and then he leans down and kisses my shoulder, “Your punishment is over. You’ve suffered enough.” Then he hands me a tissue and says, “Wipe your face; you’re a blotchy mess. Back in a minute.”  
  
I don’t know why I say this to him as he walks away, “I’m going to have bruises tomorrow.”  
  
He stops at the doorway to the bathroom, leans and looks at me, “I know. I’m going to photograph those, too.”  
  
“You said it was over,” I blurt out.  
  
“Okay, sorry. It’s almost over. There’s a bottle of water on the night table. Drink it; your voice is half gone.”  
  
 _Yeah, because I screamed into a pillow._  
  
The water is soothing, and I guzzle the entire bottle.  
  
*************  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
What I just put Brian through gave me an adrenaline rush that I can feel in my nostrils. I was mostly winging it and didn’t expect to enjoy it so much, and I’m pretty sure Brian was not ready to be as upset as he’s trying to pretend he’s not. I offer him a double shot of whiskey when I return to the bed. He pushes my hand away saying, “I already burn all over.”  
  
“It’ll take the edge off. Help you calm down a little.”  
  
He takes it and tells me that he’s calm before guzzling the entire thing. I notice as I get into bed with him that he’s thrown the hairbrush across the room. It slid halfway under the curtains. I say nothing about it; I just slide into bed behind him and press myself against his warm skin. He recoils a bit at first, but I put my arm around his waist and whisper into the back of his neck, “ _You’re okay; I’m going to take care of you._ ”  
  
He grunts in disagreement so I add, “Let me. I’ll help you mitigate the pain.” I wipe my cum off of him with a tissue and then screw open a jar of shea butter, and cover my hand with the cold cream. Brian flinches when I touch him. “It’s just cold, just give it a second.”  
  
By the time I’ve coated his ass and his thighs, he’s moaning a little, and then leans his head back and kisses me. “I”m not sure the Justin who just did that to me is one I’m even married to,” he says.  
  
“Well, I’m not married to the Brian that kept that bullshit from me.”  
  
“Okay, fine. You win.”  
  
I sigh and admit to him, “I’d hoped that you’d slip into subspace, but you didn’t.”  
  
“I was there in my nap today; I was there in my dream,” he admits to me  
  
I smile, “Aw, really?” I can’t even quantify how happy that makes me.  
  
“Yeah, maybe pain isn’t my way in,” Brian suggests, “I mean, I don’t know.”  
  
“Perhaps. If you’d done that to me, I’d be floating above the roof of this hotel.”  
  
“Can I see the pictures?” he asks me.  
  
At first I don’t want to oblige him, but then I change my mind and reach for my phone. He doesn’t have his glasses on, so they must be blurry to him, but he reacts to them anyway, “You humiliated me.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You better not slap a filter on those and instagram them,” he warns me.  
  
“Well, I guess that depends on your behavior, doesn’t it?”  
  
Brian’s eyes slice through me as he responds. “I don’t consent to that.”  
  
I put my phone away, “See? I told you we’d find some boundaries.”  
  
He responds with a random question, “Why did you pull out?”  
  
I snuggle closer to him and kiss along his shoulder, “Because that was a punishment. If I fuck you again tonight, I won’t do that.”  
  
“It hurt my feelings,” Brian says very quietly.  
  
“I know, and I’m sorry, but you hurt mine. Turn towards me,” I suggest. He rolls to face me, and let’s me kiss him, let’s me hold his face against my chest. I rub his upper back and slide a leg over his to keep him next to me. I can feel a vulnerability seeping out of him as he holds onto me. I get goose bumps that I hope he doesn’t notice. He moans against me, and the amount of gratification that arouses in me is almost unsettling. I need him to believe that I know what I’m doing even when I don’t. “I will find your way in, Brian; I promise. I will get you there.”  
  
And, again, quietly, he speaks as he litters kisses at the base of my neck, “Please fuck me again tonight.”  
  
“I will. I’ll wake you up.”  
  
“Position four,” he says.  
  
I laugh and say, “Okay, good night, Brian.”  
  
“Congrats on your show. You killed it.”  
  
“I did? Didn’t I?”  
  
“I was very impressed. Very.”  
  
“Stop, you’re making me blush.”  
  
“Good night, Justin.”  
  
“Sleep tight, my new found whore.”  
  
Brian grunts his displeasure. I ignore it.


	21. Negotiations 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2/17/18-Originally Published  
> Back to first person...

**NEGOTIATIONS 22**

****JUSTIN’S POV** **

**  
** In purely physical terms, I’ve often thought of my body’s relationship to Brian’s body as that of an odd friendship between an ant and a praying mantis, and that comparison becomes germane again hours after I punished Brian when I’m enveloped in a soft blanket and sitting on a sofa in the outer room of our suite. The television’s off because it brought me no relief. My mind’s spinning like a hamster on a wheel but the reason for this mostly alludes me. I’m just slightly agitated or something. Or maybe I mean unsettled. Yes, that’s a better word. I’ve been staring out the hotel window at the city where I lived for few years, and wondering how someone can feel nostalgic for a place that feels as equally intimate as it does foreign. It’s then that I realize that Brian is in the doorway, leaning on the door jamb, his fingers pulling at his face in an effort to wake up.  
  
“You okay?” he asks me.  
  
“Just restless; that’s all.”  
  
“I should check my phone,” he says, and I pick it up and showed him that I turned it back on. “All quiet,” I say.  
  
“Thanks,” he says, and he seems relieved that he didn’t have to re-engage with that part of his life.  
  
“You’re very welcome.”  
  
…...  
  
And then as if that conversation never even happened, Brian walks over in silence and just stands right in front of me; he wants something from me but will not name it. I say nothing, just open the blanket I’m cloaked in and accept his insect-like body into my arms. In silence and with purpose, he kneels on my thighs; I close the blanket around both of us because the chill from the window is fierce. We both look down as he strokes me; our foreheads touching and our breath creating a hot zone around us. Without conversation, Brian rises up and then lines my cock up to slide inside him. I object, “No, no, babe, you’re too raw for this. I showed you no mercy earlier.”  
  
“You think you overdid it,” he declares.  
  
“Probably...you were basically screaming at one point.”  
  
“No one’s ever died from screaming.”  
  
He starts to take me, to lower himself on my cock, and my entire being resists him, the folly of the ant attempting this not lost on me. The air between us is getting more humid and thick, even his words seem to sweat as he speaks them, “ _Justin, please._ ” He’s begging as much as he’s just bleeding frustration; he doesn’t seem to care which method works as long as he gets his way. I see his point; I’m aroused after all.  
  
I shudder from the pleasure when he starts to sit and take me; my head falling back against the cushion. The savage wail of pain that he expresses over this penetration feels like tiny nails raining down all over me. “ _You should stop_ ,” I whisper even though I’m clamping my hands around the back of his neck, our faces negotiating for space like bumper cars.  
  
Brian shakes his head _no._  
  
His long legs require the sacrifice of a sofa cushion, discarded onto the floor, and Brian struggling a bit with finding leverage and rhythm gives me a moment to breathe. I take his nipple in my mouth, shave it with my teeth which elicits a hiss from him. When he finally sits all the way down, I wrap my arms around him and slowly begin to push up a little only to free a string of pleasure-laced profanities from his throat. He’s made a deal with this pain: the only way out is through it. With each movement he makes, our conjoined bodies get closer to a cosmic slit in the universe that we disappear into and that propels us into some black hole where gravity only exists around our bodies and only to facilitate pleasure.  
  
We exist in this void for several minutes; Brian chooses the pace, not me, and it’s deliberate, designed to either prolong his suffering or maybe just to stretch this exquisite moment until it’s too thin to exist by itself.  
  
When I come, my offering zips out of me like a spider’s web in search of scaffolding; it captures Brian and as if he’s poisonous, seems to dissolve his bones and leave just his heaving flesh behind. It requires that I clutch all of him and hold him against me. I’ve never felt him so jelly-like without whiskey to blame. He’s moaning into my neck, kissing it, licking it, burning it down. As I come out of the other side of my wild ride, I feel him jerking his cock, and I realize that between his burdened breathing, he’s talking dirty… _to himself._ I can’t bring myself to interrupt him; I don’t want to. He’s somewhere else in his own little pod and the frenzy he’s creating is electric. Less than a minute later, the result of this ecstasy is dripping from my chin. He catches it with his thumb and wipes it on my lip. And then his hand curls around my head and strokes my hair.  
  
He trembles against me as perspiration beads on my chest.  
  
I am both a mind trying to understand what just happened and a support beam for Brian’s physical form which is using me for comfort.  
  
And I am alone.  
  
Our bodies, though sealed with sweat and cum, are not together on this path. Brian’s breathing’s out of sync for a bit and I feel some of his well cloaked vulnerability begin to collapse in on itself. In unexpected increments, he’s becoming utterly dependent on me. He stops stroking my hair, and instead, takes my hand and tucks it against his chest.  
  
Of all the parts of Brian I’m in love with, I have stumbled upon the one I love the deepest.  
  
……  
  
……  
  
As he lies here collapsed against me, I realize that we’ve arrived at a new amoeba-like level of intimacy. I’m free to roam anywhere inside it as the borders morph when I approach them, and the nucleus of this cell is the raw matter of Brian, a man devoid of the roles he plays.  
  
In this moment, this man is one I’ve yet to really know.


	22. Negotiations 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2/28/18-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 23**

****JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
** At breakfast the next morning, he’s the Brian I know inside and out.  
  
At present, he’s scolding me as we eat breakfast in our suite because I’m not eating turkey bacon like he is; I’m eating the real thing. I roll my eyes at him and tell him that, “‘Turkey bacon’ is an oxymoron.”  
  
“You’re an oxymoron,” he replies.  
  
“I want to buy a Fleet today and give you an enema.”  
  
He cuts his eyes at me, “Ummm, probably not.”  
  
“Okay, you can give it to yourself,” I concede.  
  
He considers my point with one raised eyebrow as he pokes his fork at his remaining food to see if it’s worthy of a bite. “I want to go shopping,” he says.  
  
“I’m totally fine with that.”  
  
“I want to spend _a lot_ of money,” he counters.  
  
“No more than five thousand, and only half of that can be on shoes.”  
  
Brian throws his napkin on his plate and pushes back in his chair. He stares at me like I’m a curious oddity in an abandoned museum. “You want more than you’re saying; you don’t _just_ want me to douche,” he tells me.  
  
“I already ordered one, and it’s in a bag on our door knob right now.”  
  
“What?” Brian gets up full of incredulity, and I laugh as I watch him yank open the door of our suite and see the drugstore bag hanging there. He’s a little behind the rest of the world when it comes to believing in this ‘we deliver anything’ economy which is bizarre because he works in _advertising._ I’ve come to understand that this is a thing that happens to older people; they can be proficient at something really complex at work and completely unaware of how to operate a washing machine at home. Anyway, he gives me a cold stare as he yanks his sweatpants off rendering him completely naked and turns to go into the bathroom. But I see something when he turns toward the door, and seconds after he’s slammed it, I’ve opened it and I’m standing in the bathroom with him. “I want a little privacy,” he says.  
  
I take the kit out of his hand, put it down, and grab his hand, pulling him out of there, “Come here. You have bruises.” As we move back into the suite, we both stop in front of a mirror. He looks over his shoulder at his ass. “Damn,” is all he says.  
  
There are some pink patches of irritated skin and some pin prick bruises where I spanked him with the hairbrush. I sit on the edge of the bed where I tug on his legs until he’s standing between mine. I kiss his stomach and run my hands over his ass. “I’m sorry I left evidence,” I offer.  
  
“No, you’re not,” he teases.  
  
“Yes, I am. Does it hurt?”  
  
“Not really. Not as much as….,” he lets his words drift off because he knows I know what he means. I let my fingertip trail down his crack and watch as his expression confirms that he’s sore from fucking. “Aw, why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.  
  
“I’m telling you now.”  
  
“I told you not to push it last night.”  
  
“Well, my asshole is not a good listener.”  
  
I move to the side to make room for him, “Lie down.”  
  
“Can we not make a big deal about it?” he asks, irritation in his voice.  
  
“Lie down, Brian.”  
  
“How?” he asks being a smartass, “What position? What number? Do I need a calculator?”  
  
“Brian, I swear if you--”  
  
He flops back on the bed, his knees bent and hanging off. I lie down next to him, hovering over him to kiss him as my hand runs up and down his chest. He moans into my mouth, his sarcastic attitude waning. I know that my overtures are working because he’s maneuvering both of us to the head of the bed. We kiss for a long time, long enough for me to enjoy the symphony of sounds Brian makes when he’s getting aroused.  
  
“Please,” he breathes.  
  
“Please what?” I ask.  
  
He ends our kiss as he starts stroking himself; I lift up a little to get a better look; he’s staring at me; he licks his lips and asks, “Can I jerk off for you?”  
  
“By all means.” This is unexpected but not unwelcome. I move myself back beside him, my one leg trapping one of his, my hand rubbing the inside of his thigh. He’s toying with himself in high fashion--enjoying long pulls on his cock and slow tight down strokes. “Take your time,” I urge him, sometimes cupping his balls and squeezing a little. Pleasure rolls through his body from his shoulders to his feet. Sometimes he seems desperately thirsty, but I don’t want to interrupt this performance because that’s what this is -- a show, a gift, actually -- just for me.  
  
Brian’s eyes roll back in his head, and he moans loudly. I put my hand on his to slow him down a little; the look on his face is one of ecstatic torture. “I wish you could fuck me,” he breathes out, and while I sense this is true, I don’t think that’s what this is all about. I let my hand drop lower, my fingers teasing him, spreading him. He closes his eyes and sighs in frustration, true frustration, something I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Brian express in our bed. This is the moment I realize that this isn’t just a show for me; it’s a message. I lean in a little, my hand on his shoulder, “I can fuck you whenever I want, but I like this. This is hot.”  
  
My response twists something inside him; he seems trapped in a cage, wanton and over-stimulated. But he’s in this box of his own free will, so I do nothing to lessen his experience. He turns and looks at me, an intense stare; he speaks, his voice sounds like there’s not enough air left in here for him to complete each word, “I...want...to...tell you….something….”  
  
“Okay. What’s on your mind?” I make myself more and more comfortable against him; his thigh trapped tightly between my legs now. He moans again, his back arching, his neck extended, his free foot sliding helplessly in the sheets.  
  
“Take your time. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”  
  
Again, Brian wears this ernest expression at odds with what’s happening in the lower half of his body, “I don’t feel like I have to.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“This is different. This is just me.”  
  
I wade into this a little deeper as I nestle against him, “That makes me very happy. Think...how many times have you had me across your lap and realized that I was getting off and had sort of forgotten about you?”  
  
“Several.”  
  
“And how hard did it make you to watch that?”  
  
“Epically.”  
  
“Same,” I say. I press my cock against his hip to make sure he can feel what this demonstration is doing to me.  
  
“You want to fuck me.” Brian says this with complete confidence in its abject truth.  
  
My eyes narrow as I watch him; he’s talking to me but it’s more like he’s having this conversation with himself, like I’m just here to read the lines for the other guy in the scene. “Of course I do.” There’s a battle going on inside him, and he’s taking it out on his cock.  
  
He pulls me in and kisses me again, and this goes on for quite awhile; he turns on his side so we’re facing each other, he pants into my mouth. “ _Listen to me,_ ” he meters out in almost a whisper.  
  
“I am,” I reassure him. He has a grip on the back of my neck, his forehead pressed against mine, “When you punished me like that last night... something...I felt something….”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
With his eyes pinched closed, he exhales hard into my mouth like he’s trying to expel some sort of fear inside him. He sounds like he’s been running for miles, “I thought about the times... I _really_ punished you, the times I took your own identity away from you….”  
  
My mind starts to race; my heart’s beating so hard I can feel it in my eyeballs. “Go on,” I encourage.  
  
“Sometimes I take everything away from you: your free will, your ability to connect with your own self-worth, your power stripped away--”  
  
I reach down and stop his hand, “Don’t come before you finish your thought.”  
  
“I think I want that.”  
  
I think for a few moments before I speak, ”Your identity is everything to you. _Everything._ ”  
  
“I know; sometimes it’s a burden--”  
  
“Okay, I’ll accept that.”  
  
Brian goes back to focusing on his cock though his grip on me doesn’t ease up. His admission gives me this insane wet warmth in my veins, and I feel honored and so fucking protective of him as he finishes himself off. He jerks in my arms as he comes, short, exhausted twitches because it’s all he has left.  
  
We lie there in each other’s arms, an arrangement that’s occurred thousands of times, but now there’s something new about it. In the sweaty sheets, Brian speaks, his voice low like it would be okay if I ignored it, “Can I see those pictures you took?”  
  
“Yeah, but where are your glasses?” I ask him. He gestures that they’re behind him, so we separate momentarily to get what we need. We curl back the way we were only now I watch him, his head bowed as he stares at the screen of my iPhone. As he thumbs through them, he speaks again, “These could be anybody.”  
  
“They’re all you,” I assure him.  
  
He looks at me through his dark framed spectacles, “Maybe...or maybe it’s nobody.”  
  
I pause before answering, “...that can certainly be arranged.”


	23. Negotiations 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/21/18-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 24**

**BRIAN’S POV**

It is an unfortunate yet scientific fact that going on a shopping spree is more fun without Justin’s permission than with it. I lose interest quickly, both in the sales staff fussing over me and in the clothes themselves. This is a bit unprecedented and Justin becomes concerned that I’m under the weather. “Let me feel your forehead,” he says, and I bat his hand away in the dressing room. “Stop that,” I snap at him; it comes off nastier than I intended. He gives me a look that means you’ll pay for that later and exits the tiny space. I don’t mean to be ill-tempered with him; I’ve just got an old memory surfacing....

The first time I let someone fuck me, I was seventeen. I was bent over the hood of an Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera by this kid, Tom Hawkins. It was early in November in our senior year of high school. We were at a bonfire after some big football game that neither of us gave a shit about. His car was parked about half a football field away from everybody, and I wonder to this day if anyone saw me like that. The car engine was still a little warm, the air was freezing, the fuck was uncomfortable. I couldn’t relax. I stared at the bonfire and tried to externalize the burn I felt inside me. I’d only agreed to it because I felt guilty. I’d fucked him the night before at his house because his family was out for the evening. It was my first time inside someone and I came upon penetration. After it was over, he told me that he didn’t really want to get fucked up the ass; he was more interested in doing the fucking so I felt like I owed him one.

But I know that part of that memory is a lie.

I tell the lie at the very beginning to keep another memory that’s buried deeper inside me where it needs to stay. I’m fastidious about storing that memory in exactly that way. It’s a game I play with myself to distract from any emotions that might dare to surface without my permission.

The lie? That wasn’t the first time I let someone fuck me.

I let Mr. Morris, my gym teacher, fuck me about two weeks after I blew him in the shower. I was fourteen, and I went to his house after school. It was completely obvious upon taking one step inside the house that he was married. The decor was way too feminine and overdone. The towels were some horrendous pink color and folded and layered perfectly in the bathroom. I saw no evidence of kids around.

(Well...except me.)

He fucked me in their bed. The room smelled like lavender and body odor; the sheets were mint green. The bedspread was a tacky floral and slid onto the carpet while he was telling me that the only way this was going to work was for me to get on my hands and knees. I knew the minute I felt that split-me-open pain that this would be the last time I’d fool around with him. He came really quickly; he’d barely had a full thrust. I got away from him and ran into the bathroom, and started wiping myself to see if I was bleeding. I wasn’t but I couldn’t believe it and kept checking. I didn’t lock the bathroom door, so, eventually, he came in and determined that I was freaking out. “You ran away too fast,” he said, “You didn’t let me get you off.”

“I don’t ever want to do that again,” I said, and my voice was trembling.

“It won’t ever feel that bad again,” he tried to reassure me. “You should be happy; you lost your virginity.”

“I thought you were gay.”

“I am.”

“You’re married.” I said, pointing with disgust to the makeup on the bathroom counter.

“Girlfriend. She knows. It’s okay. Let me suck you off. You’ll feel better,” he offered getting down on his knees. He took my half-hard cock in his mouth and tried to suck me stiff. I couldn’t concentrate; he just held my hips and moved his head up and down my dick while I tried to make sense out of the experience. I felt no pleasure at any point. I was numb, probably in shock. Up to that day, making out with him in the locker room and his gym office had been a fun risk. I wasn’t as attracted to him personally as I was to this emerging part of myself, figuring out who I was, and to the thrill of knowing that I was doing something wrong. Seeing who Mr. Morris really was killed all of that. Not because he wasn’t gay or had a girlfriend, but because once we left the school, we went from being teacher and student to just two guys weirdly hanging out. I didn’t like him as a friend; he wasn’t even good looking or smart or rich. He was nothing. I came in his mouth, first time for that, too; he got up quickly, spit it into the toilet like my splooge was burning his tongue. “It’s getting close to five so you should go,” he told me. I was way ahead of him and looking for my clothes. I got dressed and left; I walked two miles back to the school, called my mom on a pay phone and told her my practice was over. I checked my underwear for the next two days before throwing them in the hamper just to be sure there was no proof of what I’d done; at fourteen, I already knew that who I was becoming was not going to be okay with my parents, especially my father.

After my night on the car with Tom, our forty-eight hour liaison had run its course. I stole his cigarettes when he dropped me off later that night. After that, I obsessed a bit about topping and bottoming and how to signal what I wanted. Ultimately, I got a honorary degree in homosexual men and their micro-expressions in the backroom of Babylon.

I suppose a good education is never wasted.

I’ve never told Justin either of those stories, and telling him isn’t even a thought I’ve ever entertained. The second story would have no effect on him, but the first would. He would take it super seriously, and ultimately feel pity for me. He would probably tell me that I was molested, assaulted, or raped. I wouldn’t be able to make him understand that I didn’t see it that way then and don’t really see it that way now. Back then, I thought that rape was something boys did to girls, men did to women. It didn’t apply to me. He would rail at me about consent; ultimately, he would ask me how I would feel if something like that had happened to Gus. The giant chasm in my mind between myself at fourteen compared to Gus at fourteen would reveal a strange but very real hypocrisy I harbor. And finally, he would drag me back to Jon’s office, plop me on the sofa, stand on a soapbox and tell Jon all of it. I can hear him talking, see him gesturing wildly, “Jon, this is why Brian is the way he is. This is why his emotions are buried deeper than King Tut. This is why he could leave his mother dead on her kitchen floor for twenty four fucking hours and not tell me about it for five months!"

And Justin would be right because he’s right about ninety-eight percent of the time anyway. Justin’s always the first one to win the race to the truth; often, I never even make the finish line.

I am, however, very cognizant of the fact that from the night I met Justin, he has been pushing me, revealing me, exposing me. Sometimes I lurch forward a few steps and sometimes, I end up dangling off a cliff and begging for my life. He’s never stagnant, and he cannot be stopped. If a part of me starts to whither, he plucks off the leaves that are still green, replants them, waters them and waits. I suppose that’s why I married him. No one has ever taken such good care of me.

He’s waiting for me now; he sits in the windowsill of the store we’re in and texts. Every so often, he looks up at me tracking my progress through the merchandise and then bows his head again. He didn’t want me to come in here; he says the clothes in here are beneath men like me. I came in anyway because sometimes I want to see if I can still pull off the slutty look. The employees in here are ignoring me, and that’s why Justin is not interfering with my browsing. He knows that they think I’m ancient and that, eventually, the fact that they are ignoring me will piss me off, and I’ll leave.

“Do I look that old?” I ask him once we’re back outside. I light a cigarette as we stand under an overhang. It’s still fucking sleeting which is pissing me off. “Tell me the truth, please,” I say.

“You don’t look old. You look too established to wear those clothes. Your shoes cost more than their entire underwear section.”

“And their underwear is really pricey.”

“That’s because there is an entire subset of gays who are beyond obsessed with their underwear on Instagram.” He rolls his eyes, “It’s exhausting.”

I try another point of contention, “But they don’t even want me to fuck them. That doesn’t make sense to me.”

Justin shoves his phone in the pocket of his pea coat and stares up at me with incredulity, “You have a ring of your finger, Brian, and I walked in with you. You’re a married man of a certain age--”

“Okay, okay. I get it--”

“--Of a certain age, and there is no way in hell those little twinks can compete with the indelible beauty I radiate.”

“Wow.”

“Well, I had to go there. Now, do you want to go to a store where we can find a tailor who will fondle you or can we go somewhere else because I am fucking freezing?”

“Yeah, this is the wrong day to hang out in the city.”

***********

Within an hour, we’re sitting in a recently remodeled movie theater in NYC where we’ve decided to see a film that will never ever screen in our neck of the woods. Justin says he’s been to this theater before the renovation, and he greatly approves of the changes. I’m sitting on the far end of a deep red loveseat; his head’s in my lap. If this movie sucks,” I tell him, “We can fool around."

“This movie’s not going to suck. I read the reviews,” he replies.

Justin will remember the name of this movie,whether or not we liked it, whether or not there were sufficient homosexual plots, subplots, and/or context for his high standards. He will tell people about it someday, and I will stand next to him nodding, agreeing with all of his opinions. We end up making out halfway through because although there’s sufficient homosexual context, it’s leaning far too lesbian for our tastes. We already saw one gay couple walk out. We leave shortly after, and Justin’s very affectionate in the lobby, informing me that, “Anytime I see an unexpected vagina in a movie, I feel like I need to spend an hour watching porn to scrub it from my brain.”

“They should have warnings when a gay movie is _Lawrence of La Labia_ ,” I offer.

“I read the fucking reviews; there wasn’t a word about lesbians.”

I tell him I think he read the reviews for a different movie and got confused, and he actually concedes that that’s a possibility. “But,” he says, an ardent expression on his face and a tight grip on my hand, “I have an idea of something we could do to banish that film from our minds forever.”

“Please don’t say sneak into a different movie.”

He shakes his head, “No, this would require your active participation.”

“How active? I’m sort of tired.”

“Just come with me,” he declares, tugging on my hand. We walk briskly thru the persistent sleet as tiny frozen spikes ricochet off our heads.


	24. Negotiations 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/16/18-Originally Published  
> back to first person POV

**NEGOTIATIONS 25**

****BRIAN’S POV**  
**  
We find ourselves in the restaurant of The Muse Hotel. It’s a quirky place, and while Justin concedes he’s never eaten here, he says he’s been to this bar a number of times. “With Kai,” he says, “That Japanese guy at my show last night.”  
  
“The one wearing all black with spiky hair with the red streak?” I gesture to my own head.  
  
“Yeah, he’s an artist, too, and a friend of mine. I mean, I see him at shows all the time.”  
  
“What kind of artist is he?” I ask, “And is he even thirty?”  
  
“Early thirties. He’s a painter, too, but his art isn’t for mixed company. It’s sexually graphic.”  
  
“Please don’t tell me it’s vaginas.”  
  
Justin laughs, “No, he’s gay. That’s why he was there last night. We have a lot of the same customers but for very different reasons. He’s what you would call a…. professional switch.”  
  
“He’s an escort,” I counter.  
  
“It’s not about fucking. He services the kind of men who have very specific kinks, and then he uses that inspiration to make some really disturbing art.”  
  
“That’s just weird.”  
  
Justin nods, “It is,” as three different appetizers are delivered to us along with these obnoxiously hipster cocktails that have completely unnecessary ingredients in them like lavender and fucking elderflower. I consider dumping mine in a fake plant. Justin’s is called: _Death in the Afternoon_ and it contains champagne and absinthe. I don’t even know what these itty bitty appetizers are, but I’m hungry, so I’m just woofing them down. Justin’s sucking his drink with a straw and giving me random and weirdly intense looks.  
  
“There’s no way in hell that drink tastes good,” I tell him.  
  
“It’s awful,” he says, “But in a good way.”  
  
“What does that even mean?”  
  
He shrugs as I get up and tell him I need to piss, “Be right back.” I wander through the eclectic lobby until I find the men’s room. I think Justin likes this place because it has a strange Warhol vibe to it. The bathroom is trying too hard.  
  
When I get back to our table, Justin’s not there. I turn my head to locate him, and a voice surprises me; I jump a little, “So sorry. He said to tell you he’d be right back,” our waiter -who’s standing way too close to me-- says as he hands me a drink, “He also said to give you this. It’s high shelf as requested.” I thank him and sit down with my whiskey as he starts clearing our table. This is one of the sweet things Justin does for me; he reads my mind when I’m not satisfied with something and endeavors to fix it. “Can I get you anything else, sir?” he asks.  
  
I pick up the small menu on our table, peruse it, and say, “These steak medallions. Are they good?”  
  
“Very.”  
  
“Bring me a double order. I could eat like a straight man.”  
  
Our waiter finds this joke relatable, “Been there, done that.”  
  
“Medium rare,” I say, and he nods. “And a glass of water.”  
  
“Of course. Oh--,” he says looking past me, “Here he comes now.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Justin comes back into the restaurant and sits down next to me reeking of some sort of smiley yet suspicious aura. “Where were you?” I ask.  
  
He dodges my question, “Did you order something else?”  
  
“Yeah, some steak things. I’m starving. There’s enough to share.”  
  
“Okay, cool.”  
  
Just then, my phone lights up, and I glance over to see that a credit card transaction of over five hundred dollars was charged. I turn to him while realizing that he’s nudged his chair closer to mine at our round table, “What did I just buy for five hundred dollars?”  
  
“Shit,” he says, “I forget you get those alerts.”  
  
“Answer my question, please.”  
  
He rolls his eyes at my badgering, and gently slaps his hand on the table. When he lifts it up, there’s a key card there. I move my eyes from the card to his face; he puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes. I realize that we’re married and all, but his moves could be a bit more stealth. The steak’s delivered to our table, and Justin points to his deadly drink, his eyes fixated on our waiter as he says, “Another please.”  
  
I try again, “Why did we get a hotel room when we already have one?”  
  
Justin sighs as he picks up a medallion, “I need a favor.”  
  
“Okay, what can I do for you?”  
  
As his second drink arrives, he looks at me and in a serious voice he would use to tell me he totaled one of our cars or something, he states, “I’m really horny.”  
  
I laugh aloud; it startles him, he blushes and then smiles at me. I question him a little more, “You’re so horny that you can’t wait until we get back to our original hotel room?”  
  
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he tells me, and then he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a Viagra single pack. I just got these a week ago; he went thru my briefcase because he knows full well that I stash pharmaceuticals in there. This snooping thing is one of Justin’s _less_ endearing qualities. He sets it on the table, “I need you to take this.”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Please.” I swallow the pill with my eyes fixed on his, and he squeezes my hand and says, “Thank you.”  
  
I begin to wonder what’s going on with him, and why we really need this bonus room. He mistakes my uptick in curiosity for concern and apologizes for I don’t know what, “It’s wrong, okay. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I tried to ignore it.”  
  
Now, I have a choice here. I can stop this misunderstanding or I can let it play it out, maybe even help it a little, so I figure, why not? I’m borderline bored anyway. I put my arm on the back of his chair, pretending I’m informed, “You don’t need to ignore it. It’s okay.”  
  
This was probably a mistake because Justin looks up at me with this unfiltered vulnerability on his face almost breaks me into a million pieces even as I remain in the dark. He lays his head on my shoulder and whispers, “ _I love you._ ” Our waiter’s circling back at the very same moment and upon observing our public intimacy, turns quickly on his heel and walks away. Justin downs the rest of his afternoon concoction as I survey the table and motion for our waiter to return. “What’s our room number?” I ask him.  
  
“Six twenty three.”  
  
…...  
  
I walk toward the elevator, and Justin pulls me back. “What?” I question.  
  
“Let’s just give it a couple minutes,” he pleads, “I need a little time.”  
  
 _For what?_  
  
His mood’s strange, but I just walk with him around the lobby looking at all of the random wacky art. I feel this struggled vibe coming off of him. I decide, “Okay, I’ll go smoke. You come get me when you’re ready.”  
  
He seems relieved, “Okay. Thanks.”  
  
 _What in the hell is going on with him?_  
  
*****************  
When I find him again, it’s less than ten minutes later. He’s somewhat nervously perched on a bright yellow upholstered bench right inside the door of the hotel with his hand curled around a brown paper bag. I end my smoke break, re-enter, sit down next him, smile and ask, “You okay now?”  
  
“Better, but I still feel a little guilty,” he says with a sigh.  
  
Perhaps examining this bag in his hand will shed some light; he gives it up easily and I hold it up as the brown paper unravels. I open the bag, look inside and laugh. There’s a pack of gum and a small bottle of lube from the hotel gift shop. “Whatever’s bothering you, it’s not keeping you from spending my money,” I tease.  
  
“Stop it. I made a killing last night.”  
  
“Yes, you did, but you didn’t use your credit card to pay for this adventure. You chose to use mine.”  
  
He turns his body to face mine and confesses, “I like the way I feel when I spend your money.”  
  
I flirt with him to relax him, “I like the way _I_ feel when you spend my money.”  
  
…...  
  
It’s just us in the elevator, and mentally, I’m trying to prepare myself for what’s in room six two three. Or maybe _who?_ I don’t let go of his hand until we’re standing in front of our room. Our key card works and as I go to turn the knob, Justin stops me, his hand on my arm, “I meant to tell you, all the rooms on this floor are themed. I picked this room on purpose.”  
  
I have no idea what that means or what I am walking into...  
  
Three or four steps inside though, and I know exactly why he picked this room.  
  
It’s...well…  
  
...completely…  
  
 _blue._  
  
There are blue LED tube lights running along the top of the walls right below the ceiling. The carpet is blue, the bed is blue, the sheets are blue, and even the glasses and ice bucket are blue. The only area with normal lighting is the bathroom. But even in there, the towels and tile are, of course, blue.  
  
“Every room on this floor is a different color,” he says.  
  
“I like it.”  
  
“It’s soothing,” Justin offers.  
  
“It’s familiar,” I respond, and as I say that, he looks at me with those blue eyes of his as some type of recognition flashes across his face and he smiles. We both seem to be momentarily infected with a little nostalgia. Justin steps closer to me, raising his arms and hooking them around my neck. We kiss, and it’s a moment I won’t forget because somehow the past, present, and future is wrapped up in it. “Are we expecting company?” I ask him.  
  
“No,” he dismisses, and I can tell he thinks it’s a stupid question but whatever. I’m a lot of things but psychic is not one of them. Justin’s in front of me and, oddly, both nervous and aroused. And I need to decide what my priorities are. If I’m allowed to have any….  
  
“Take your clothes off,” he says, but the tone in his voice is not commanding which confuses me, but, again, _priorities._ I simply perform the task while never taking my eyes off of his and while trying to respect his affect even though I can’t read it very well. Uncertainty is an aphrodisiac in its own way.  
  
Justin comes closer to me, a mere few inches, and rests his head on my chest. I wrap my arms around him taking care to mirror him and not to make moves of my own. And then I get that same sensation I got in the restaurant because he keeps whipping out his vulnerability and waving it in my face. I get chills over my entire body, and he whispers, “ _Sorry_ ” and kisses my chest in apology.  
  
The ambient noise of car horns and sloshing tires fills any space between us when we are silent. Those sounds are just one more thing that makes this room remind me the loft in the early days. “I need you to fuck me,” he says.  
  
“This is the favor?” I ask.  
  
“The way I deserve to be fucked,” he adds.  
  
 _Okey dokey._  
  
He’s such a fascinating little creature sometimes. I just want to examine him from head-to-toe and try to understand why he is the way he is, but I can do that another time when he’s not telling me to _fuck him._  
  
I let my hand float lower on his back, my fingers dipping inside his jeans as I respond, a small step forward with an indelible truth, “That’s not a problem. At all.” Justin sighs a little letting only a miniscule amount of relief escape and then asks me, “Do you know what I mean when I say ‘the way I deserve to be fucked?’”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“You probably do,” he concedes, “You know everything about me.”  
  
“Uh, no, not everything,” I respond, “Not by a long shot.”  
  
“In bed,” he reassures me.  
  
I respond, “I’m not sure about that. If I knew everything, I’d be inside you right now.”  
  
He looks up at me, his eyes narrowed as he puts his hand on my face, and then he rises up on his toes and kisses me in a very _you belong to me_ sort of way, and, again, the chill returns. The barrage of _please just take me_ signals he’s sending me right now is almost overwhelming.. He’s unbuttoned his jeans, though, and he’s not stopping my hand from rubbing his ass or teasing him with my fingertips. He’s gotten us both invested in this delightful torture. And then he says, “You know everything about fucking me in a room as blue as this one.”  
  
This hipster concoction he guzzled has done a number on him.  
  
“There’s always more to learn,” I counter even though, admittedly, I have no clue what I’m arguing this point.  
  
Justin’s body shifts then, both of his arms around my neck, his mouth pressed against mine. If what we did in the movie theater was foreplay; this is the extended remix, and I’m definitely here for it. He starts relocating my hands, showing me what he wants me to do; in this case, it’s pushing his jeans down as he kicks his shoes off. I help him with his shirts, layered for this brutally cold weather. His sweater ignites a copious amount of static electricity in his hair as I yank it off, and the crackling sound seems right on cue.  
  
And then, Justin’s urging me backwards. I glance and see that there’s a chair behind me so I sit. He kneels on the floor between my legs. His lips kiss the inside of my thigh, they skate around my dick; his tongue teases me, rolling my head around just inside his mouth. My heart revs a little in anticipation. I was certainly not expecting an oral worship, but I’ll take it. Soon, I’m emitting a stuttered pant because it’s become impossible to take in a full breath. He gifts my cock with a few long pulls while he licks my balls. I keep swallowing hard, licking my lips, and letting my legs spread further and further apart. At one point, he lets out this little approval moan; he wants me to know he’s enjoying himself. I put my hand under his chin, my thumb strokes his cheek, “You’re making me crazy.”  
  
“Good,” he says.  
  
I inquire, “Have I done something to deserve this?” Because I truly have no idea.  
  
“Not yet...really, but you will.” His reply seems like something a leprechaun would say to you if you snuck up on him, and then I forget about ridiculous thoughts like that because Justin swallows me completely.  
  
My eyes roll back in my head as he does it, my back arches forward, and he uses his strong floor position to hold me where I am. I place my hand on the back of his head and hold his mouth at the base of my cock and raise my hips until he bucks because he can’t breathe. I relent, and he sucks hard, stealing ecstasy from every pore in my body and sending it all to my shaft. He makes a delicious noise when I start to come, wrapping his arms around my waist. I can feel him swallowing, an indescribably pleasurable sensation. “Justin,” I say in between breaths, “That...was...beautiful.” (That act alone was worth the five hundred dollars and change.)  
  
“Do you remember when you used to make me do this before we fucked?”  
  
“Yes, because, if we didn’t, I lasted about five seconds inside your tantalizingly tight little ass.”  
  
“Even with a condom,” he jokes, and then he gets serious, “It made me feel special.”  
  
I don’t know what he’s trying to do to me, but it’s working, “You _are_ special. I wanted to stay inside you as long as I possibly could.”  
  
Justin looks up at me, his expression almost piercing a hole through my heart, “I remember the first time you told me I did a god job--”  
  
“Well, you were born to suck cock, and I mean that in the most flattering of ways.”  
  
“Shut up. It’s weird. but it’s like, when we walked in here, I could taste your cum in my mouth,” he admits to me.  
  
I laugh a little and tossle his hair, “A sense memory. Those are powerful things.”  
  
“Do you have any?” Justin asks me as he climbs into my lap, straddling me.  
  
“Oh, sure.”  
  
“Tell me one,” he says.  
  
I think for a minute and remember, “Well, this is sort of one: ‘til this day, when I wake up in the middle of the night and our room is completely dark, I can’t remember what bed I’m in for the first minute or so. Do you have that sensation sometimes?” I ask him.  
  
“Yeah, especially if I’ve been painting non-stop and fall asleep in the studio. I sometimes think I’m back here in New York, in my studio, and then I snap out of it and realize I’m in our house.”  
  
“Right, so I reach to see if you’re with me, and when I touch you, I immediately assume the bed is low to the floor, that we’re at the loft. I’ve gotten up to piss and almost fallen out of bed more than once. It’s hard for me to imagine us in bed together anywhere else when I’m not fully awake. It’s especially bad if I go to sleep drunk.”  
  
Justin laughs, “I do that, too, only I wake up hungry and think the kitchen is only a few feet away. I’d probably be really fat today if it was on the same floor.” We both find this funny, but even as we enjoy that moment, our discussion, his mention of the kitchen, makes me realize something unsettling; I look away from him, focus my eyes on the window.  
  
“What?” he says, his hand on my face as he turns it back toward him which I resist.  
  
This realization is wholly inconvenient, especially right now. It has some nerve popping up when Justin is naked and aroused and in my lap. I consider not telling him, but, this is Justin, and I have accidentally let some emotion slip out so that will never fly. I take a deep breath, “Uh, I just realized….” I stop because I really don’t want to say this aloud.  
  
He drank the drink, but somehow I’ve metabolized its contents: _Death in the Afternoon_  
  
….  
  
Concern clouds Justin’s face.  
  
….  
  
I squeeze the bridge of my nose and close my eyes trying to ignore the frustration I feel.  
  
…...  
  
“Brian, please tell me; secrets make me uncomfortable.”  
  
“Okay, but it’s not a secret; I just realized this right now.”  
  
“Okay, I understand.”  
  
 _Here goes nothing…_  
  
…...  
  
 _Very deep breath…_  
  
…...  
  
“Okay…. I think that’s why I left... Joan... on the kitchen floor. She was bleeding from the head, like you--I couldn’t--it reminded me of-.”  
  
Again, I stop talking.  
  
…….  
  
Justin’s mouth falls open a little in shock; he breathes deliberately.  
  
……  
  
We just look at each, our eyes communicating while everything else has shut down.  
  
……  
  
As cliche as it is, this moment between us has stopped time.  
  
…...  
  
He tentatively rubs my shoulders, tries to comfort me, “It’s why you didn’t tell me. ...I get it now. It’s okay. ...you didn’t know you were hiding it from yourself.” His arms incircle me but don’t tighten like he’s afraid a real hug will shatter me, “Shit, I’m so sorry, Brian. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”  
  
“I didn’t even know until now,” I tell him; pressure builds in my face...swelling. I press it harder against him. His heart’s racing. “Just let me--” I tell him. “Please just let this happen.”  
  
“Okay, I will. I understand.”  
  
A small army of tears arrives in my eyes; they sting as they leak, anxious to exit. I refuse to let another round follow that one.  
  
“It’s okay; I’m here,” he reassures me, “I’ll always be here.”  
  
This emotional surge baffles me because none of it is about Joan; it’s all about him. I didn’t even know this correlation in therapy yesterday; Jon didn’t even try to make it for me. Justin’s wiping my tears away as fast as they fall.  
  
…...  
  
And then it’s over; the realization has retreated. All hail the ‘power cry.’  
  
…...  
  
When he finally speaks again, I can tell that he cried a little, too. “Head is weirdly powerful, isn’t it?” I look at him and laugh because what a stupid thing to say and be right about, “That’s how well I taught you, Grasshopper.”  
  
“It’s true,” he says, “But if you want to leave this place now, I understand.”  
  
“I don’t want to leave. We’re getting our five hundred dollars out of this spooky, strange room.”  
  
He explains, “I’ve wanted to bring you here for a long time and to this specific room, but I had to wait for the right situation. And, I mean, it’s not like we can stay in a one color room for an entire weekend. We’d go bonkers.”  
  
I pause, then ask him, “Have you been here before? To this room?”  
  
Justin smiles, “My friend, Kai, he’s had ‘sessions’ on this floor. He has a client who likes to use all these different colored rooms, so I came with him one time to help him set up.”  
  
“Set up what?” I ask because my mind is pinballing with the possibilities.  
  
“His easel and stuff. There’s a lot of edible body paint in those situations. We had to sneak the paint and drop cloths in in suitcases.”  
  
“You didn’t stay for the festivities?”  
  
He shook his head emphatically, “Uh, no. I’m not even supposed to know who the client was. I was long gone.”  
  
……  
  
It’s completely dark outside, and the lights of the city are reflecting in our windows. I wonder if the restaurant has filled up downstairs and how many determined theater patrons are navigating this weather. The room has gotten bluer now that sunlight is no longer contributing to the color spectrum. Justin’s fair skin gives off that coolest hint of pink on my lap. “You’re no longer listening to me,” he announces.  
  
“Sorry, I got distracted.” I put my hands on his waist, “You want me to fuck you, correct?”  
  
“Yes,” he says; he smiles and then leans forward against me. We sit together in this chair as I hold him and rub his back. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. He becomes coy and flirtatious and very affectionate; he distributes small kisses across my shoulder and up my neck. In a hushed voice behind my ear, he tells me, “ _I need you to follow my lead.”_  
  
“Of course.”  
  
He gets up from my lap, and as I start to follow him, he shakes his head and nudges me back down. Then he smiles at me as he bends over the small round table next to us and locks eyes with me. It’s an act tasks that takes just a few seconds, but it’s a message I understand immediately. I put my palm on his bottom and ask him, “So this fuck you say you want, it needs to be--”  
  
“Relentless,” he answers.  
  
“So...deep? Hard? And time consuming?” I ask.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“But I’m sensing that we need to warm things up first?”  
  
“I can’t recall the last time a good spanking lead to a bad fuck,” he says.  
  
“Right.” I hold my hand up. “Unfortunately, all I have is my hand. I wasn’t notified that I needed to come prepared.”  
  
“You have everything you need,” he reassures me.  
  
I rub his ass again, and tell him to close his eyes. He does, and I slip my finger tips inside his briefs to tease him before I guide his underwear completely off, and then run my hand up the inside of his leg. His breathing stops and starts as I touch him; he actively holds it and then releases it in tiny gasps when he likes where my hand’s going. I curve my hand around the top of his thigh and squeeze. I lean forward and put my left arm on his lower back, effectively holding him still. His eyes open, and he stares at me, his face flushed with arousal, his lips red and slightly parted as I begin to spank him, his plump cheeks warm in response to the force I’m delivering. Justin’s fingers grip the table on every blow forcing him to get steady on his toes and audit his position. This table’s just the right height to keep him off balance. More than once, I stop administering pain and just kiss his pink bottom, rub and remind him that, “It’s a privilege to punish you.”  
  
“Brian, I think I’m dripping,” he says and he makes it sound hopeless, like he’s lost control of his body.  
  
I let my hot hand wander between his legs to see if he’s right. “Your cock’s making a mess,” I tell him as I rub the evidence up and down his dick, “But that’s okay. I can take care of that.”  
  
He just nods at me from the trance he’s in. I feel high as a kite when Justin’s in this altered state; the euphoria becomes mutually contagious. I stand up and position my body on top of his, let the warmth from his spanking bleed into my skin, too. He moans as I stroke his hair, as I kiss the back of his neck. His skin is damp with sweat; I uncurl his fingers from the edge of the table. “I’m going to move you,” I tell him, “Because you’re stuck to the surface.” He just moans as I urge him carefully up and off the table, ungluing his chest and stomach inch by inch. I guide him to the bed, letting him lie down on his back, intent on making sure he gets the fuck he needs. I push his bent legs back and tell him to, “Hold them. Show me what you want.” Justin slips his hands under his knees and spreads them as wide as he can. With lubed fingers, I feel how tight he is as I lean on him, my body weight making it impossible for him to move. I kiss him and ask, “Does this feel good? Your hot bottom filled up?”  
  
“Yes,” he says after he kisses me back, “More.”  
  
“I can make you come like this, can’t I?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“I can even milk you, can’t I? Make you come in the worst way?”  
  
“Yes, sir, but please don’t.” When I don’t agree immediately, he presses me, “ _Please, Brian, don’t._ ”  
  
“Because you want to come like a good little boy with a big cock in your ass, right?”  
  
“With _your_ cock,” he moans.  
  
I wonder sometimes if my cock knows just how lucky it is, if it understands that the privilege that’s befallen it carries some real responsibility. I feel like it’s jogging in place between my legs, waving me down and yelling, ‘Put me in, Coach!’  
  
It’s right about one thing, though, this is partly a game.  
  
I want to toy with my prey a little, so I take advantage of my long fingers inside him and my other hand on his cock, showing him just how far I can take him while my dick waits impatiently for my call. “Brian, please,” he begs, “Please take me.”  
  
“You have control issues, Justin.”  
  
“Mostly in bed,” he says with a sly smile. I roll my eyes, and change my tactics. I make him hold still as my cock teases him, my hands splayed on his thighs, my thumbs circling his hole. He expresses audible displeasure at being toyed with, so I lean down and kiss him, comfort him, and then tell him, “Now, shut up. Unless you’re moaning from pleasure, I don’t want to hear shit out of you.”  
  
“You’re so mean,” he complains.  
  
“Mean?” I ask as I stroke his cock, “Is this mean?”  
  
He resists me, squirms underneath me, tries to divert me with subversive affection, tries to let go of his legs and run his fingers through my hair, “Inside me,” he begs again.  
  
“Did I say you could touch me?”  
  
“You’re fucking evil, Brian,” he says. It’s secretly a compliment but we both pretend not to know that. Justin returns to his initial position, holding his legs apart, and I let him feel the just the tip of my cock, slipping in and out of him. I watch my shaft, all shiny and raw, and every time he tries to move to take it, I slap his thighs. Eventually, I lean down and whisper to him, “ _I wish I had your paddle right now so I could teach you a lesson._ ”  
  
“You’d hurt me?” he asks but it’s not a question born out of fear; it’s a wish born out of a raw desire that’s mapped Justin’s entire face.  
  
I look down and watch my dick dipping in and out of him, and it’s so fucking beautiful. I tell him, “I want to paddle you for thinking you have the right to resist me because you don’t.”  
  
“ _Oh god._ ”  
  
“The only right you have is to be the absolutely perfect receptacle that you are.”  
  
“God, I fucking love you.”  
  
“You’d better because this tight ass of yours adores me.” And with that, I push all the way inside him; I feel his body tighten and then extend; his moan can probably be heard down the hall. He’s so far down the pleasure highway that I just lie down on him, my arms encircling his head and shoulders as my hips administer this wicked pleasure for both of us. He kisses my face, my neck, everywhere he can while he’s thanking me over and over, “ _Fuck, yes. Fuck me._ ”  
  
“You’re so much prettier when you’re desperate.”  
  
“Make me come,” he begs, “ _Please._ ”  
  
Our bodies, held together by some vicious desire, sync as we fuck. His needs become mine. Mine become his. What was initially relentless becomes more intimate. He whispers into my ear, a feverish request; his breathing getting more intense, “Tell me….”  
  
I smile down at him, “What?”  
  
“You know.”  
  
“That I love you?” I ask.  
  
“Stop fucking with me!”  
  
My lips are barely an inch from his, “ _That you’re a good boy?”_ Pleasure infects him; it rolls from his head to between his legs. His tight bottom squeezes my cock. I continue, “ _You are; you even let me know you needed this. That makes you a very good boy.”_  
  
Justin moans and seals himself to me, whispering evidence of gratification, and then, “ _Fuck, I’m gonna come._ ” He holds onto me, squeezing our bodies together as the pleasure pulses out of him. He steams appreciation into my ear, _”That was fucking incredible, Brian.That was everything I needed.”_  
  
“My pleasure.”  
  
…...  
  
He’s gone now, flying completely free even as he’s captured in my arms. His warm body feels close to liquifying. I hold him more tightly just in case. We’re quieter as the minutes pass, and I just listen to the sounds our bodies make, to Justin’s breathing. I can feel his pulse inside my own body. I could feel his surrender as it was given to me; I don’t even have to reach for it. In this dark room, we are cocooned together in this blue light, a mandatory merger.  
  
For whatever reason, he needed this.  
  
…...  
  
He needed me.  
  
…….  
  
When Justin begins to come back to the here and now, his skin peels away from mine in small increments, his eyes begin to focus and scan the room. Slowly, he reorients himself, and eventually, they land on my face. He smiles. I smile. We kiss, and I ask as our faces part, “You okay?”  
  
“I don’t think I can talk,” he observes, “My lips are numb.”  
  
“I can understand you perfectly well.” He pulls at his lips seemingly confused as to how they’re able to function. I suggest to him that we relocate beneath the sheets, and he nods like he’s helping me when in actuality he’s practically dead weight that I’m maneuvering on this blue bed. I don’t complain; he can’t help it. I pull his body against mine under the blankets; he’s facing away from me but you couldn’t slide a post it between us. He guides my hand between his legs guides it to his inner thigh. Going to be sore tomorrow,” he says.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his hair, “I didn’t think I spanked you that hard.”  
  
“My thighs,” he says, and I realize he means from the position he was in. “Massage,” he orders, squeezing my hand. I get to work on the task, and he goes back inside himself, moaning softly as he responds to my touch. If I wasn’t exhausted, this would be too much to take, all these erotic sounds and movements he makes.  
  
He tilts his head back, kisses me and then asks, “How’d you make that fuck so dirty?”  
  
“It’s a gift.”  
  
He sighs as he concludes, “A gift that I get to unwrap over and over again.”  
  
“Yeah, you do, because it has your name on it.”  
  
Justin responds, “I don’t know how you can take something so familiar to me and make me love it and fear it at the same time.”  
  
I lean down and whisper in his ear, “ _I like to fuck with you sometimes.”_  
  
‘You more than like it, Brian.” He rubs his forehead and his temples trying to center himself as he speaks, “But, now, I want to tell you something; I actually sort of need to.”  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
He rolls in my arms so he’s facing me, “It’s been bugging me since yesterday.”  
  
“I’m listening,” I emphasize.  
  
“Okay, this might be painfully obvious at this point, but there are some parts of me that can’t just be without certain parts of you for very long...at all.”  
  
“Ah, I see.”  
  
“And then there are other parts of me that want to light this thing we have on fire and see how hot it burns.”  
  
He surprises me, “Whoa, okay.”  
  
“Like there’s a part of me that wants to tie you up so tightly that you can barely flare your nostrils on your own and just leave your cock free for me.”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
Justin continues, his fingers stroking my face, “And I want to fuck you like that for hours, over and over, until you’re exhausted, until you have blisters from being ridden that much and then when I untie you, you still don’t move because you can’t.”  
  
“How very savage of you.”  
  
“But then in the next moment, I need this other side of you, and I--,” he stops and looks away, conflict evident on his face.  
  
 _Ah ha. Bingo. The secret is spilled._  
  
“So that’s what all this angst has been about downstairs, all that guilt and anxiety? You needed to submit for a few hours even though it’s not your turn?”  
  
“Don’t make me sound stupid, Brian.”  
  
“I don’t mean to. I think it’s rather adorable, really.”  
  
Justin admits to me, “I literally do not understand how you can change your head space so quickly and with no effort whatsoever.”  
  
“Because you needed me. It’s that simple. Literally.”  
  
“Brian, come on. It’s only been a couple of days. I’m ashamed,” he says, and he means it, covering his face with his hands in exasperation.  
  
“Why do you put this kind of pressure on yourself?”  
  
“I don’t know,” he bemoans, “It’s such a stupid problem in the grand scheme of things.”  
  
“Listen to me. You’ve made some very deep and intense trips into subspace lately, and you’re fucking fearless on that journey. And maybe there’s a little bit of you that hasn’t quite packed up and left yet?”  
  
“I like it here,” he admits.  
  
“Oh, I know.”  
  
He’s gotten so adept at this that he can multi-task while he’s in subspace. Incidentally, I find it to be grossly unfair and consider it an unspoken, one-sided challenge in our relationship, but I digress….  
Justin seems to be in agreement, “But I never thought of it that way, that I’m not ready to leave.”  
  
“Well, you probably have a job there now, like you’re a professor at Subspace University and get a real paycheck and everything,” I tease him, and he claps right back, “I’ll bet I have tenure, too.”  
  
“Oh, no doubt.”  
  
“And a hot teaching assistant.”  
  
“Okay, time to go.”  
  
“And lab hours with lots of hand on learning.”  
  
“Pack your shit; the train’s leaving the station,” I say.  
  
Justin’s smiling and laughing, but I ]make sure he understands, “If you’re the one in charge, then you decide what happens, so what happens can be anything you want….or need.” This seems to make him happy, so I continue, “And you’re always entitled to this, Justin. You don’t have to work for it or earn it. It’s automatically yours.”  
  
He gives me a sly look, “Sometimes you make me beg.”  
  
I roll my eyes and concede the point, “Yes, but you like to beg.”  
  
“True, but I want to be fair to you, Brian. I’m kind of obsessed with it.”  
  
“Let me decide what’s fair to me and what I need, okay? And if something needs to be adjusted, I’ll let you know.”  
  
“Do you promise?”  
  
“One hundred percent, and we both need a little latitude in this situation, don’t you think? We’re both trying to work against type.”  
  
Justin’s eyes widen, he looks up, he kisses my chin, “I want you to know that I thank the universe every day that you’re my husband, Brian.”  
  
“That’s very sweet. I send a thank you note to the factory I ordered you from at least once a year.”  
  
He rolls his eyes at me, “Ha. Ha. Ha. How much are tickets to your one man show?”  
  
“I’m afraid it’s sold out.”  
  
***************  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
After a dinner date, Brian and I finally arrive back at our original hotel. It’s after eleven, and I invite him to take a jacuzzi with me since we have one in our room. He agrees after one last cigarette, and we raid the mini bar, stacking all of the vodka and whiskey bottles on the edge of the tub. We both drink our fair share, but Brian, I discover, is much drunker than me as we try to get out and dry off. I should’ve caught onto this sooner when, during a conversation about our relationship, Brian described our union as part condiment…  
  
I began, “Can I tell you something I’ve noticed about us?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Okay, here’s the thing: everyone around us, all of our friends and family, their lives are always expanding. They’re having kids, or adopting, or renovating old houses or testing their DNA to find unknown relatives--”  
  
“Yeah, no. I’m not doing that,” Brian flatly rejects.  
  
“Exactly, and you and I, our world gets smaller and smaller. I mean, we can’t actually put the dungeon on our Christmas cards,” I point out.  
  
“Do we send out Christmas cards?” he asks. “Are you snapping pics of me throughout the year and then photoshopping a Santa hat on me?”  
  
“We did one year. It was weird. All it did was increase the number of cards people sent us the next year by a ridiculous amount, so I decided, ‘Fuck that.’"  
  
Brian summarizes, “We’re like an ever-tightening pretzel, you and I, dipped in the most expensive of mustards.”  
  
He was completely serious.  
  
That comparison should’ve been my hint that he was more sauced than me. Instead, I discover it as we dismount the jacuzzi because he’s very wobbly and finds it funnier than it should be. I hold him steady as he yanks a towel from the wall. “Why are you doing that?” he asks me, staring at my hand wrapped around his bicep.  
  
“Because you’re like a tall pine tree in a windstorm right now.”  
  
Brian laughs and points to his skull, “It’s windy up here.”  
  
 _I wonder if drinking and Viagra don’t mix. Perhaps I should google this?_  
  
I get Brian sufficiently propped and turn to take a piss, and that’s when I feel him behind me, on me, his hands helping me hold my own dick. His chin digs into my shoulder. I turn my head as much as I can and inquire, “Why are you so fucked up?”  
  
I can feel him smile against my shoulder.  
  
“Answer me,” I demand.  
  
“Oxy,” he says.  
  
Now, it makes sense. He was very touchy feely in the jacuzzi and every bit of that narcotic and liquor sped through his bloodstream in that hot water. He gave me a foot massage while we were in there, but only after he’d asked me to stop singing songs from _The Greatest Showman_ soundtrack which I listen to religiously, and Brian’s extremely sick of. He picked up my foot and started massaging it which I appreciated until I figured out that he knows I can’t sing when he’s touching my feet. I’m not even going to harass him about the Oxy because we own a gay dance club and opiates are practically grown on the premises. It’s utterly pointless. The next time he speaks, he’s asking me to do him a favor in a ridiculously sappy voice, “Will you help me get ready for bed?”  
  
I sigh, “Yes. Sit here; I need to get a chair.” I return to the bathroom to find him sitting on the toilet, his towel on the floor and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. I inform him, “If you are taking a shit, I rescind my offer. You can figure this out yourself.”  
  
He laughs with his entire torso, his shoulders heaving up and down, “I just wanted to piss you off. I don’t have to shit.”  
  
“Sit in this chair, you idiot.”  
  
He flips it backwards and plops down, his face resting in his hands. I discard his stupid cigarette, and start unpacking his toiletry kit. We could be at the apex of a zombie apocalypse, and Brian would still insist on his full face routine. One of the jars rolls into the sink, and he snaps, “Be careful! Jesus!”  
  
“Do not yell at me.”  
  
“That shit’s expensive,” he adds.  
  
“Really? Who do you think actually orders and stocks this stuff for you? Your other husband?”  
  
He grins, “You’re right. It’s my other husband.”  
  
“Is he the one that fucks you when you get home from work on time?” I ask.  
  
Brian talks to me in the mirror, “Yes, but this is the first I’ve seen him all day. Welcome home, honey.” He tries to slide his hand up my towel and I jerk away which leaves me standing there naked with exfoliating scrub and a washcloth. “Whoops,” he says.  
  
“Sit up straight.”  
  
He makes a huge production of sitting up straight, and I hold his head back and start washing his face. He has his hand wrapped around the top of my thigh. “This feels good,” he admits.  
  
“Well, I have a youthful, toned body.”  
  
“I mean the facial, genius.”  
  
Everything from this point on has to go in a strict order that I memorized years ago. Brian’s been in bed sick with the stomach flu, and I’ve sat next to him and done his entire face care regimen. Nothing stops this routine. I rinse his face very well. Apply toner. Pat dry. Apply face serum, then neck serum, then eye serum and lip serum. Then we wait thirty seconds in silence as all of that sinks into his pores. This is the closest I’ve ever seen Brian come to praying. Finally, we moisturize. His face, his neck, his eyes. And then, finally, we’re done. I put everything away, zip his bag and push it back against the wall. He pulls me close, kisses me, thanks me and gets up, dragging the chair out of the bathroom. I then tend to my skin care regime which is washing my face with his cleanser and using whichever product he has the most of to finish it off. When I exit, I begin turning off all the lights on all over the suite. I pull the sheets back on our bed and slide in beside Brian. The drapes are open, and the lights of the city crisscross on Brian’s back. His head’s resting on his crossed arms. “We have to get up and go tomorrow. Our flight is just after noon,” I remind him.  
  
“I remember.”  
  
“Are you hot?” I ask because he’s actively avoiding the covers.  
  
“Yeah, Oxy makes me sweat on top of the liquor.”  
  
“That’s why you shouldn’t mix shit, Einstein.”  
  
“You’re giving me dejavu,” he claims.  
  
We both laugh at that. “All these years later, and you still do dumb shit,” I point out.  
  
“And _love_ the same guy,” Brian replies. I smile and lean over to kiss him and tell him good night. I roll away from him and curl the covers around me. He won’t fight me when he’s burning up. I try to sleep; I close my eyes and let the day’s events play back in my mind. And that’s when my thoughts stop on one moment….  
  
“Brian, are you awake?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
I roll back over and put my hand on his shoulder, “I’m really proud of you, of the work you’re doing. You kind of amazed me today, having that breakthrough and being able to work through it.”  
  
“Well, life is a learning process. People evolve, and I am a people.”  
  
“You are a drunk people,” I point out.  
  
“Even drunk people evolve, apparently.”  
  
“Okay, I just wanted to tell you that. Good night; I love you.” I kiss him, my hand on his cheek. As I start to roll away, he pulls me back, “I need to tell you something, too.”  
  
I smile, “Go ahead.”  
  
“You forgot one of my serums.”  
  
“No, I didn’t. I put them all on the counter; I used them all--”  
  
“You forgot the cock serum.”  
  
“Is that right?”  
  
“You used it last night, but not tonight.” He sees the confused look on my face, and explains, “Last night you put it right on my butt, remember?”  
  
 _Honestly._ “Yes, I remember.”  
  
“It doesn’t work when you apply it like that. You have to put it in my butt, like an injection.”  
  
“Well, thanks for the beauty tip.”  
  
He tightens his grip on me, “I would like my injection now.”  
  
I roll my eyes at his request, and inform him, “I’ll fuck you tomorrow night when we get home. Right now, I’m exhausted and not even hard.”  
  
“I can fix that,” he offers.  
  
“We overdid it last night, remember? You were in pain?”  
  
“I’m feeling zero pain right now,” he argues.  
  
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, but I’m really worn out, Brian.”  
  
“Don’t reject me; I don’t handle it well.” I just stare at him, trying not to laugh. He touches his nose to mine and whispers, “ _Please._ ”  
  
I slide my hand down his stomach to his cock, and to his credit and my amazement, he’s very hard. I stroke him. He moans and reminds me, “You made me take a pill, remember?”  
  
“Ah, I did.”  
  
“It hasn’t worn off.”  
  
Our embrace becomes more intimate; Brian presses us together, his hand on my ass. “Can we compromise?” I ask him.  
  
“Maybe. What are you offering?” he asks.  
  
I put my arms around his neck and kiss him and then talk to him, our mouths maybe an inch apart, “I want both of us to be sober the next time I fuck you, and I want you to be a little desperate because I made you wait.” I run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his back, and rub his ass; he moans at the attention. “But if you need to come right now, I’ll help you with that.”  
  
“ _Deal,_ he breathes into my hair.  
  
“Roll onto your stomach.”  
  
We untangle for this, and I lie on top of him and whisper behind his ear, “ _I’m going to rim you until you can’t take it anymore._ ” Brian smashes his face in his pillow and moans into the fabric as I kiss my way down his neck, his back, and the cleft between his cheeks. “When I lick you, I want you to think about how you feel when I’m inside you. I want you to feel how tight you are and how my cock fills you up. Understand?”  
  
“ _Yes._ ”  
  
He parts his legs for me as I tease him, and when he feels my tongue swirl around his hole, his hips continue to tilt, offering himself to me. “I want you to remember how helpless you are when you bottom for me, how every decision about your pleasure and release is no longer yours to make.” Brian groans and makes it physically clear to me that he wants to pull his knees in. He tries and I push him back down and hold him there, my thumb pushing against his entrance. “I told you; I’m not fucking you tonight.”  
  
“I want to jerk off,” he begs, his voice expressing his raw need.  
  
“Okay,” I relent, and release the power I have. His body shifts forward, and he scrambles to tuck his long legs beneath him. I drag my tongue up the inside of his thigh to his crack, and he starts to touch himself. I cup his balls as my tongue fucks him, and his hips rock back and forth into my face. He starts to plead for more, and when I tell him that I still won’t fuck him, he sends a bottle of lube with amazing precision between his legs. “ _Please, improvise. I want to come like this._  
  
“Okay,” I agree because he may be drunk and high, but he’s also rabidly aroused. When I slip a wet finger inside him, he’s delirious, “ _Fuck, yes._ ”  
  
Two inside, carefully, and his breathing is heavy; he starts to sweat. I take my time at first, stretching him, pushing deep and holding him there. He pumps his cock, until I reach for his hand, and put just a little lube in it. Brian’s breathing gets frenetic when he wets his cock, and I let my fingers fuck him. When I turn my fingers and let the pads of my fingers touch his prostate, he bucks, swears, and starts the familiar set of actions that always precedes his orgasm.  
  
I put my hand on his ass and tell him to hold still, and then I work my hand like a piston inside him. I see his eyes roll backwards. “ _Goddamn,_ ” he spits out.  
  
“You like this?” His answer is just a crazy stream of curse words and superlatives. “I want you to come with your ass stuffed like this, Brian.”  
  
“I’m coming-- _oh, fuck….fuck, Christ--”_  
  
He exhales loudly as he comes, his body sinking back onto the bed. I lie on top of him, kiss the back of his neck, “That was beautiful.”  
  
“That felt so good.”  
  
“Tomorrow night, you’ll get the real thing. I want you to sleep now.” I lie down beside him, and he props himself on my chest and gives me a long, deep kiss. “I love you, too,” I tell him. He sleeps pressed against me, his arm draped over my stomach. His body is still hot, there’s still a sheen of sweat. I wait a few minutes until I’m sure he’s out, and then I cover him with the sheet and partway with the blanket. I turn back on my side and make my own cocoon, but I stay close to him. It’s where I want to be.  
  
All that cock serum, though? Once again, it went to waste.


	25. Negotiations 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9/25/18-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 26**

**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Without notification or explanation, Brian diverts our car to the cemetery on the way home from the airport. It’s fine with me; I take it as another step in his healing process. He doesn’t stop me when I get out of the car with him, both of us still wrapped in our branded array of coats, gloves and scarves. At least it’s no longer sleeting, Pittsburgh is just gray skies with a bitter chill in the air. We walk in silence to his parents’ headstones. He sits on his mother’s, his long legs extended as he lights a cigarette. I brush off the pine needles around Jack’s stone, and then walk a few steps away to a bench under a leafless tree. I watch Brian as he begins a soliloquy. He’s speaking quietly, and while I can’t completely hear the words, I can tell what he’s saying by the expression on his face and the way that he pauses now and then to collect himself. He apologizes to her and then starts to talk about me. I look down at my phone and pretend I’m reading something; when Brian speaks from his heart, there’s something sacred about it. When he’s done, he gets up and kicks away the dead flowers obscuring her headstone and then takes a deliberate step to Jack’s grave. He says something very, very short, gives him a sarcastic salute, turns and walks toward me. I put my phone in my pocket. We walk hand in hand back to our car. I’m proud of him, but I don’t need to tell him. He knows; in fact, I’m certain he can feel it.  
  
Anytime we’re home from a trip, our routines are familiar, like worn paths. I begin resetting our lives for the week by unpacking, hanging, washing, folding and on and on. Brian retreats to his office to see what’s going to be waiting for him on Monday morning. I always come find him when I’m done with what he affectionately calls my ‘domestic flurries;’ and today I get the same follow up question I always get about whether or not I changed our sheets and towels. A casual observer would think it’s because Brian’s bossy and demanding, but that’s not why he asks. He asks because he has a weird aversion to seeing a bed with no sheets on it or a bathroom with no towels hanging, so I make sure that he doesn’t see it. If I’m rotating linens in a guest room, and I’m not finished, I keep the door closed. He repays this courtesy by handling all insects, rodents, and occasionally, an aggressive raccoon. I can wake him up at four in the morning because there’s a quarter inch bug in the bathroom, and he will neither bitch or complain. I suppose anything’s better than hearing me scream like a terrified queen.  
  
I point to his computer screen, “Will tomorrow be crazy?”  
  
He shakes his head, “No, I just have a lot of decisions to make in one day.”  
  
“Do you need me there?”  
  
“Probably not. You should stay home and relax; you just refilled your bank account.”  
  
“Yeah, I deserve it,” I say.  
  
He pats me on the butt, “You do. Are you hungry?”  
  
“Want me to make us a half dinner?” I ask. ‘Half dinner’ is what we call it when I make dinner for one and we split it.  
  
“Yeah, but easy.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Brian joins me downstairs when I call him, and we eat grilled chicken and peas from small plates; Brian believes eating from small plates is the key to keeping his figure. Once in awhile, I dust off the larger plates so they don’t feel forgotten. I ask him if he plans on working out tonight after his food digests, and he looks up at me very deliberately and says, “Not in the gym.”  
  
I grin, “Understood. Is there somewhere else you’d prefer?”  
  
Brian raises his eyebrows and shrugs, “That’s completely up to you.”  
  
“Okay, well, I need about an hour in the studio to straighten up and stuff.”  
  
“I’ll watch something,” he says.  
  
……  
  
After a big, successful show, I like to reorganize and reset my studio. I stack new canvases, clean my paint tray, restock my snack cupboard and fridge. The next time inspiration hits, I want to walk in here and feel like it’s brand new again. It takes me longer than an hour to complete this process to my satisfaction. I find Brian in our home theatre watching some movie I’ve never seen. He clearly wants to see the end. I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, my socked feet resting against his bare ones. It’s twenty degrees outside, and he still walks around with bare feet. Brian believes that all marriages are legally required to consist of one person who’s always cold and one who’s always hot. It’s how the universe keeps things in balance. I ask him what’s next on his agenda for tonight, and he turns off the television and smiles at me as he answers, “Exercise.”  
  
Indeed.  
  
*************  
Brian has the smoothest, silkiest skin I’ve ever touched. He’s not just beautiful to look at; he’s beautiful to touch. He’s lying next to me in our bed at just after ten o’clock on this Sunday night, and neither of us are interested in going to sleep. All the bruising from Friday is completely gone; he gives off a very peaceful vibe as he lies on his stomach, his arms crossed on top of his pillow, his head resting there. I kiss his bicep, his shoulder, and his back as I run my hand over it. Neither of us are in any rush.  
  
It would be insufficient to say that I just want to fuck Brian; I want so much more than that. I want to be inside him when he completely lets go; I want to experience the ripening of his desire; I want to be there when it starts to rot. I want to smell the sweet decay of his resistance, of the last traces of his dominance. I want to feel it turn to mush so I can mold it into whatever form his submission wants to take.  
  
He probably just wants to get laid.  
  
One of the most challenging things about being with Brian is that it often takes a lot of effort, gumption, trickery, begging, etc., to get certain types of information out of him.  
  
Until tonight.  
  
Tonight, he’s decided to dole it out...his way. He gets my attention, gets my face in front of his, and tells me, “I’ll make you a deal.”  
  
“What sort of deal?”  
  
He leans closer and kisses me, a kiss that feels more like a starter pistol firing than a good night gesture. Then he says, “When you fuck me, for every minute you can stay inside me, I’ll let you ask me anything you want.”  
  
“I’ll stay inside you all night then,” I counter.  
  
“I mean actively fucking me and until you come.”  
  
 _Bummer._  
  
I consider his offer, “Can I choose the position?”  
  
“Of course.” I flop on my back, my hands intertwined on my chest. Brian comes closer, examines me, “What?”  
  
I turn my head to the side, “That’s a huge decision, the position.”  
  
Brian raises his eyebrow at me, “You have ten seconds to decide.”  
  
 _Aren’t I supposed to be in charge here? Or is this what it really feels like....?_  
  
“I can’t decide, Brian. You decide.”  
  
He slaps me on my arm, “Make a decision, Justin.”  
  
“Face down,” I blurt out.  
  
“Okay, why?” Brian asks.  
  
“Because I can probably last longer that way because I’m not looking into your gorgeous fucking eyeballs.”  
  
Brian laughs, “The back of my neck is stunning, though.”  
  
“Just out of curiosity, how many minutes do I normally last?” I ask him.  
  
“I’m not giving you the over under while you’re giving me the over under, Sunshine.”  
  
“That sports metaphor just made my dick go soft, Einstein.”  
  
“It was also a euphemism,” Brian defends.  
  
“So, you miss my cock a little?” I ask.  
  
He smiles, “More than a little, okay?”  
  
I position myself halfway on top of him, run my hand down his face, “Tell me.”  
  
He nuzzles closer to me, his face laying on my arm, “I can appreciate the need to have you fuck the shit out of me.”  
  
“Well, that’s a euphemism, and a bit of a dodge. You sounded like a politician. Try again.”  
  
Brian rolls his eyes and tries again, “I’ve laid next to you for twenty years and ached to be inside you, even after I’d just fucked you five minutes before, but now, that’s not the only sensation I feel, and sometimes, it’s not the strongest.” My eyes open wide at his admission, and he takes it as a challenge and says, “ _Okay?_ ”  
  
“Wow,” is all I have to offer.  
  
Brian defends himself, “That was one of your minutes.”  
  
I sigh and let him have that; it was a real admission; it has value to me. It was worth it. “I just have one caveat,” I warn him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“If we fuck, and you fall asleep, I get to use my minutes tomorrow or whenever I want.”  
  
“You think that cock of yours is pure magic, don’t you?”  
  
“Oh, I know it is.”  
  
Brian smiles at me and turns on his side to pull me in. I want this; I want to feel if he’s hard or if this really is just a dumb game to him. He likes when I touch him; he reaches down and grips my wrist to hold my hand on his cock. I kiss him hard, squeezing his cock until he squirms uncomfortably. “Ow,” he says and releases my wrist. He gives me this sly grin, “You’re not fucking around.”  
  
“I don’t think you want me to,” I tell him flatly.  
  
“No, I guess not,” he says, and like an onion, he’s shed another layer of his determined exterior right in front of me.  
  
And yet…I’m still not certain of what Brian wants physically in this moment. I mean, I know what I would want; I can produce the tried and true foreplay instructions that will get me exactly where I want to be, complete in a parchment scroll presented by a really hot squire at the call of a bugle. Brian’s desires surface more like a faded tattoo that you can only see in certain lighting. So, I make a decision to focus on myself, on what I want out of this. I push him onto his back so I can reach his nightstand which is perfectly stocked (by me) with a fresh cum towel and his favorite lube. Brian watches me - dare I say, eagerly - as I don’t even touch him. I touch myself and make him watch.  
  
“Roll over,” I tell him.  
  
He watches me from over his shoulder as I let him feel how hard and slick my cock is between his legs. I let him feel me line up at least three times before I really do because toying with Brian’s expectations is something I need to get better at. He slams his pillow against the headboard when I push inside him; the muscles in his back and shoulders become immediately defined.  
  
“Breathe,” I remind him. I glance at the clock; it’s ten forty two. I have to pause myself; he’s never been this tight. I remember Friday night in our suite, how he rode me on that sofa, how afterwards, he was clearly in pain. I lie down on his back and put my hands over his. “I’ll go slow,” I tell him, “And not just for the extra minutes.”  
  
He laughs and the sensation is wild. “I’m okay,” he tells me.  
  
I rest just my forehead on his shoulder blades so I can look down his back and watch myself fuck him. I can somehow feel his heartbeat even though mine is deafening between my ears. His body begins to relax into the pleasure; he’s not just tight, I realize, he’s _stiff_ because all he did was sit on a plane, sit in front of a computer and then sit in front of a television. I, on the other hand, have been bustling around for hours. I can feel him tightening and relaxing his leg muscles like his body is awakening. His ankles crack. “You sound like an old man,” I tease him.  
  
“I know.”  
  
I push the hair up off the back of his neck and let my lips brush over his skin. I run my hands along the sides of his torso, he moans for me. He’s relaxed now; he’s all mine.  
  
For now, I’ve forgotten about the deal we made. I’m focused on every breath he takes, on his growling response when I slide my hand underneath him and pinch his nipple. I twist it between my fingers, and when he hisses at me, I reverse course and rub the pain away. Then something dawns on me. “Brian?”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“Remember that threesome we had with that escort?”  
  
“The sandwich?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“I just realized that I wish I had two of you so I could always be in the middle.”  
  
Brian raises his head and looks back over his shoulder at me. He’s amused but that’s not all. He gives me a serious look and says, “That’s the best fucking idea you’ve ever had, darling.”  
  
I smile and respond like it’s actually possible, like he can just go out and get a clone of himself tomorrow morning, “Really? You think so?”  
  
“I have _literally_ never heard a better idea, and I get paid to hear ideas all fucking day.”  
  
But then I realize, “There’s only one problem though.”  
  
“Just one? Enlighten me.”  
  
“You won’t share your clothes with him.”  
  
He snorts and laughs at the same time. “If this other ‘me’ is for sex sandwiches, he won’t need any clothes.”  
  
“Oh my god, we are so doing this.”  
  
“We are,” Brian says, “Like, for real.”  
  
*************  
I lasted eight minutes inside him. For the record and my pride, he barely lasted five. That makes me deliriously happy. He was careful, though; he snatched the cum towel just in time and shot into it while eliciting a groan I could feel between my legs. It’s a fascinating sensation to come inside Brian, to feel my cock surrounded by more pressured warmth than I can even describe. He dozes off for a few minutes, and I just stay there, running my fingers across his upper back, drawing a picture only I can see.  
  
I get seven shots at this ‘apple’ Brian has gifted to me.  
  
I have some thinking to do.  
  
*************  
Right before lunchtime on Monday, Brian texts to say that he’ll be late tonight because of a conference call. I ponder my response, and since I’m not in the mood to cook dinner, I make a new plan. I call him, and he answers immediately, “Hey.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“This client is in a different time zone.”  
  
“It’s okay; I’m making a new plan. Can I come see you at three thirty for about half an hour, uninterrupted?”  
  
I can hear Brian’s smile in his voice, “Sure, of course.”  
  
“You’re not too busy?”  
  
“No, I’d do the call earlier but the client can’t, so it’s fine.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”  
  
……  
  
I arrive at Kinnetik at three twenty and notice there’s a new hire in Cynthia’s old office. Allison is with her teaching her the phone system. She invites me in, and introduces me to Brian’s new assistant, Hillary.  
  
“Hi, I’m Justin Taylor, Brian’s partner.”  
  
She stands and shakes my hand; she’s petite, maybe five four, very well dressed and has perfectly manicured nails. She has a bright smile and honey brown hair that’s tucked back. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
I sit and chat with them since I’m early and find out that she’s married to guy named Patrick who writes gruesome horror novels. She used to be his editor, but the subject matter was getting to her. She needed a change of pace. “I’m not the type who can work from home and not lose it after awhile,” she adds.  
  
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Brian’s needed to fill this position for awhile. The fact that you’re familiar with horror will probably be an asset here.”  
  
Allson steps forward and slaps my arm, “What is wrong with you? Don’t say that.” She’s laughing as she reprimands me.  
  
I defend myself, “I just mean that Brian can be a lot when he’s in a mood. Feel free to call me or text me if you need some advice.”  
  
I hear Brian’s voice behind me, “Some advice about what exactly?”  
  
I turn and Brian’s leaning on the door jamb, his arms crossed, his eyes boring into my skull, but I’m not afraid of him, “How to navigate your ebb and flow.”  
  
“You’re about to get caught up in a bitch of an undertow,” he warns me. Hillary’s eyes widen behind her dark rimmed glasses; Allison is shaking her head at both us and then she says, “Don’t you two have a meeting?”  
  
“We do,” Brian says.  
  
I stand and smile at Hillary, “It’s great to meet you. Allison, please give her my number.”  
  
“I will, now, shoo, both of you. We can’t afford for her to quit!”  
  
*************  
  
In the privacy of Brian’s office, I sit on his small conference table and invite him between my legs. He growls a little and leans forward, kissing me and making it clear that my presence is appreciated. “You look hot,” he breathes, “Are those pants from our shopping trip?”  
  
“They are.”  
  
“So why did you schedule this appointment with me?” he asks.  
  
“Because I need an orgasm from you before we meet after work,” I explain.  
  
“Mmmm. This is on your to do list then?” he asks.  
  
“It is.”  
  
I begin to undo his belt, unbutton his pants and slip my hand inside his underwear. I press the ball of my hand against his cock and rub while he moans. I ask, “Have you touched yourself today without my permission?”  
  
“No,” he says, “This is the first real break I’ve had anyway.”  
  
“I put a snack on your desk because dinner will be late tonight.”  
  
“You’re very sweet to me.”  
  
He grabs a box of kleenex sitting behind me when he’s about to come, and we work as a team to keep him tidy. He kisses me and asks, “What are we doing tonight?”  
  
“We’re going to Babylon.”  
  
“It’s closed on Mondays.”  
  
“I know, but not to us.”  
  
“Hmmm...okay.”  
  
*************  
  
When Babylon’s not open for business, it can be kind of a scary place with weird shadows and creepy echoes. I go behind the bar and take a brand new bottle of Johnny Walker out of the inventory and leave a note for Ruben that I took it so he doesn’t freak out. I grab two glasses, pour myself a double and down it quickly. I find a box in the storeroom that I’ll need and place it in the middle of the dance floor. Next, I head upstairs to Brian’s office and to the lighting area where I can control everything in the club. Although my understanding of what all of these different lights are called is limited, I can run the system like a pro. I turn on the colored spotlights that move independently and constantly, lighting the entire dance floor and then find the spotlight I want and point it at the bar on the whiskey.  
  
Time to wait.  
  
Well, to wait and ponder why there’s a leather sling installed in a corner of the office. I’ll definitely be asking, _what the hell is up with that?_  
  
Tonight, I want to play around with status and humiliation. I want to see how Brian responds to losing one and feeling the other. I hear the back door opening, and see Brian come in. He calls for me, and I answer him from the catwalk outside his office, “I’m up here.”  
  
He looks up at me, his hand shielding his eyes from the spotlight, “Hey. What’re you up to?” he asks.  
  
“You’ll see soon enough. I put that whiskey out for you. Help yourself.”  
  
“Don’t mind if I do.”  
  
“How was the rest of your day?” I ask.  
  
He nods as he drinks, “Good. Put out a fire with an important account. Got a killer hand job from this hot blond guy.”  
  
“How hot was he?”  
  
“He’s pretty fucking hot, so hot, I kind of married him.”  
  
“Well, you’re very smart so that tracks.”  
  
Brian shrugs from his bar stool, “Yeah, I guess I am.” He starts to get up and come to the stairs, and I stop him, “Nope, don’t come up here yet. Go back to the bar.” He gives me a severe eyebrow and goes back to his stool. “Can you tell me why there’s a sling installed in this office up here?”  
  
Brian starts to laugh, “Ha, I forgot about that.”  
  
“Well?”  
  
“It was a prank that Rube ended up liking so he kept it.”  
  
Now, I have a ton of questions. “Um, what? Last I heard, Rube is so asexual that he only masturbates by accident.”  
  
“Let me come up there,” Brian says, “This is weird.”  
  
“No, answer me. What’s the deal with it?”  
  
“The bouncers installed it on his birthday thinking that they would just take it back out, but Rube, being the weirdo he is, decided he likes sitting in it because--”  
  
And then I get it, “Because he rocks sometimes. I’ve seen him do it in the office now and then. He spaces out and rocks back and forth.”  
  
“Exactly, so he loves it. He swings on his breaks. Now, can I come see you?” Brian asks.  
  
“Not quite yet. Have you had enough whiskey?”  
  
“Yep, I guess so. I don’t know how drunk I need to be for what’s about to happen.”  
  
“Do you see that cardboard box on the dance floor?”  
  
Brian looks and I move the spotlight to the box. “I see it.”  
  
“Okay, I need you to leave your glass on the bar and go stand next to the box.”  
  
“This is fucking weird,” he bemoans as he follows my instructions. “Now what?”  
  
“I want you to take everything off, every single thing. The box is for your clothes.”  
  
I back the spotlight intensity off a little as Brian steps out of his shoes. He holds them in his hands and look up at me, “This makes me uncomfortable.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Is someone else here?”  
  
“Nope. Just me and you.”  
  
He sighs and puts his shoes in the box, then his suit coat, then his tie. He folds everything and places it in the box like it’s a hope chest or something. He drags the task out to counterbalance how uncomfortable he is. “Why is this bothering you?” I ask him.  
  
“I don’t know. It’s just weird.”  
  
“Just think about all the men who’ve taken off their clothes for you this building,” I remind him.  
  
“Like anyone can count that high,” Brian retorts.  
  
He peels his socks off and complains, “The floor is fucking freezing.”  
  
“Sorry about that.”  
  
He seems mildly annoyed by the time his underwear comes off, and then he looks up at me almost and responds defensively, “I’m done.” I study his body; his cock is limp; there’s no arousal.  
  
“Leave the box and come up here,” I say.  
  
He starts for the side stairs, and I shake my head and point the spotlight to the other side of the dance floor where the stairs to the catwalk are, “No,” I say, “Go the long way so I can watch you.”  
  
He turns and I keep the spotlight on him for every step. He complains about walking on the metal stairs with bare feet, says it feels weird and they’re probably really dirty. As he approaches me, I dial down the spotlight considerably. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this off kilter in Babylon. I extend my arm and he walks into the office. I follow behind him and shut the door. I know he’s uncomfortable, but I’ve decided that this is how I need him. This has to be the starting point for the journey I have in mind for tonight.  
  
Brian points to the sling, “Do I have to get in that?”  
  
“Only if you want to,” I offer.  
  
“I think I’m too tall,” he says.  
  
“I agree.”  
  
Being less than affectionate with Brian as he stands here nude and confused in front of me is not easy to do. In fact, it’s fucking agonizing. I refuse to engage emotionally with him until I’ve completed the next task. I sit on the generous-sized sofa and request, “Come here. Come stand in front of me.” He takes the few steps while never taking his eyes off my face, and soon I’m eye level with his navel. Without explaining first, I put my hand in my pocket and pull out a black leather and steel gadget of sorts, a chastity cage fondly referred to as ‘The Gates of Hell.’ I don’t really let him see it, and I don’t talk to him about it. I just work as quickly as I can, getting his balls through one ring and then guiding his cock through the six other rings all joined by the leather strip, each one decreasing in diameter as it reaches the head of his dick. Then I look up at him, and he’s staring down at me like he doesn’t know me, like he doesn’t know quite what to do now that he’s stuck in this device. I lean in and rub my hands over his abdomen and then his ass as I close my eyes and kiss his stomach. I feel his hand in my hair; he exhales loudly. I stand up and take his hand; we exit his office and walk three steps to the next doorway, the entrance to Mecca, Babylon’s VIP orgy room. Every Sunday night, this room is completely cleaned and turned over. The covers on all the furniture and futon mattresses are changed out, over a hundred towels are restocked. I point to the gray colored mattress in the middle of the room, the biggest one, and Brian walks over and sits down. He’s silent as I close the door, lock it and get undressed. A box of clothes and shoes worth about seven thousand dollars sits far away from us in a cardboard box on a rainbow lighted deserted dance floor while my ensemble that costs far less is crumpled on the floor. I sit next to him on the mattress, and he lies back. I kiss him, and he kisses back like a stranger, like he doesn’t trust me; his eyes scan my face like they’re reforming my portrait in his mind. I decide that this moment is perilous; I rest my hand on his face, “Brian, it’s okay if you’re nervous.”  
  
“I think it turns you on,” he says, and I shrug because maybe it does.  
  
I kiss him again, and I’m able to fine tune the message he’s sending me; it’s not so much about a lack of trust; it’s apprehension. To prove my theory, I let my hand wander to his imprisoned organ, and the look on Brian’s face is identical to one he’d have if I asked him to try on an off brand suit. I pause and ask, “What color are you right now?”  
  
“Yellowish green, I think.”  
  
I want to challenge that assertion, but trust has to run both ways, so I don’t. I touch the device to make sure I have him in it correctly, and everything looks right, so and then I look back at his face, and I can’t even describe the look on his face as anything other than dread. “You’ve never been shackled like this have you?”  
  
“Nope,” he says.  
  
I urge Brian to roll on his side toward me so I can press myself against him; my hand is on his face, my thumb on his chin. “Listen to me,” I tell him.  
  
“I am.”  
  
“There’s so much pleasure in bottoming and in orgasm denial that in _all_ the sex you’ve had, you haven’t even scratched the surface of.”  
  
“I’m aware.”  
  
I reiterate. “I don’t think you’re aroused by pain, like I am--” He starts to respond, and I give him a cross look and put my finger on his lips to shut him up, “But you did tell me that you are intrigued by having your sense of identity stripped away from you.” He nods. “This is the first time you’ve walked into this club and not been in charge in one way or another. Tonight, you’re not. This isn’t your club; there’s nobody here to obey you or fall to their knees in front of you. The only worth you have is what you’re worth to me right now.” I reach between us and stroke his cock in between the rings, and he groans in frustration. “I just need to trust me okay?”  
  
************* **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** I trust Justin completely.  
  
I can feel the truth of that statement and in doing so, I relax a little. I decide that I can either focus on how uncomfortable this device is or I can focus on him. I choose the latter. Justin asks me to lie back again and hands me a blindfold. “Will you wear it, please?” he asks sweetly.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
He kisses me, a pop on the lips, “Thanks.” I slide the black silk over my eyes. I can feel him moving, feel him walking around on the mattress and then coming back to me again. I feel his hand on my shoulder; he speaks, “So, like I was saying, I don’t think you’re aroused by pain the way I am, but I do think there’s a tactile component in all pleasure you seek.”  
  
“That seems rather obvious,” I offer.  
  
“Do not be a smart mouth, Brian.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Something cool and lightweight touches my chest, and I reach for it; the leather strands of a flogger feel smooth to my fingers. “Don’t interfere,” Justin says.  
  
“Again, sorry.” I lace my fingers behind my head.  
  
“If you become solid yellow, let me know, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Justin rubs my cheek, my forehead, strokes my hair. I smile; it feels good. I hear the flogger slice the air a split second before it hits my chest. I flinch because I expect pain, but it’s absent. Justin touches my shoulder again, “Just relax. I want every molecule of you present with me right now. This isn’t about pain.” His benevolence gets my full attention. His hand glides across my chest and then I feel the cool leather rain again. “See if you can just focus on the rhythm, on the sound,” he instructs me. He administers many more blows with little force behind them, just enough to keep me awake. The flogger moves down my body to my stomach and then to my cock. I internalize the rhythm, the pacing, the _whoosh_ as it hits me and then the tingling as it’s taken away, the strands moving off my body the way a wave pulls back from the sand. It feels nice on my thighs. The impact moves down my entire body to the bottoms of my feet and then begins the trip back up. As I lie here blindfolded, I picture my body on a stretcher in a car wash being pelted as I inch forward. I feel peacefully confined to this fate, and when the leather reaches my shoulders again, Justin says, “Now, turn over,” and keeps right on going.  
  
 _Whoosh.  
  
Slap.  
  
Tingle.  
  
Drag.  
  
Recede._  
  
Every inch of my body is awake, every pore is participating.  
  
 _Whoosh.  
  
Slap.  
  
Tingle.  
  
Drag.  
  
Recede._  
  
No part of my body given more attention than any other.  
  
 _Whoosh.  
  
Slap.  
  
Tingle.  
  
Drag.  
  
Recede._  
  
High tide….  
  
Low tide….  
  
I’m disappointed when it’s over.  
  
Except now, Justin is snuggled up against me, running his hand down my back, over my ass. “I really liked that,” I tell him. He slides my blindfold off; he’s smiling at me, “I could tell. You were moaning.”  
  
“You had a technique,” I observe.  
  
“Yes, _YouTube_. It’s all in the wrist.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“You forgot about your cock, didn’t you?” he asks me.  
  
I nod, “Yes, I actually did.” _Wow._ “I kind of want you to do it again,” I tell him. Justin laughs a little and urges me up on my side so I can see how hard he is and that we’re moving on. “It’s my job to take care of that, huh?” I ask.  
  
“It is one hundred percent your job,” Justin says. I can feel my cock again...surrounded by uncomfortable pressure. “I want to be inside you,” he tells me, “But this will be different than any other time I’ve fucked you. Lie back down.” He presses me back down on my stomach. I watch him and the serious look on his face as he grabs a bottle of lube and coats his hand. He scoots closer to me and lays his head on my upper back. “Spread your legs,” he says, and when I do, I’m not prepared for what Justin obviously is. He slides his fingers inside me, and I’m unsettled about how tight I am. He reads my face, “It’s the cage, Brian.”  
  
“It’s not like this with you,” I say.  
  
“Because you’ve fucked me a million times.”  
  
“Jesus,” and then I realize, “This is why you came to my office today and made me come.”  
  
He kisses my shoulder blade, “Yep, I needed you a little spent.”  
  
“And rattled, that’s what that whole dance floor strip tease was for.”  
  
“Yes, you’re right again. All of that was to get to this moment. Try to relax a little; let me open you up.”  
  
I fess up to him, “I can’t like this; I can’t lay on this thing.”  
  
“Okay, get up on your knees, but keep your head down. I want you to remember your place.”  
  
 _My place._  
  
I obey him because I want to, and the sensation I feel both physically and emotionally has morphed. From position three, with my face in my hands, I think only about him, about giving myself away for his pleasure. It’s an intense feeling; it arouses me which makes me even more uncomfortable even as I try to ignore that physical impossibility. I know when he’s getting ready to fuck me because I’m empty and I can feel the mattress shifting underneath me as he finds his position.  
  
The next few minutes will never be forgotten; they are seared into my mind. Justin takes his time getting deep inside me, and he rubs my lower back as he fucks me. My hands are clenched in my hair, pulling it to try to shift attention away from the ecstatic torture of this fuck. My shackled dick is hanging and swaying back and forth, part of me and not part of me at the same time. I start to feel queasy. I’m groaning and then it happens…  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
I dry heave.  
  
Justin lurches forward and then stops moving, but he’s laying on my back; his body twitching as he tries to comfort me with his hands. I’m frozen in position, unable to move. Justin’s searching for my hands, extracting them from my hair. He squeezes them and laughs, “God, I’m sorry. That made me come. Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, that was weird, but I’m also kind of numb,” I explain.  
  
“It felt like you were pulling my cock from my ass to your throat. I’ll pull out, just relax and let me.”  
  
“I’m numb,” I reiterate, “I can’t feel anything.”  
  
As Justin and I disconnect, I feel my body list sideways and connect with the mattress. I can’t unravel myself from a fetal position, and Justin realizes this and holds me tightly, and that’s when I look down and see a dark spot in front of me. I touch myself and feel something wet. “Um…,” I say.  
  
Justin sits up a little and peers over my shoulder to see what I see. He laughs a little, “Oh, god, I milked you by accident. You had a ruined orgasm.”  
  
“You never said it felt this gross,” I point out.  
  
He strokes my thigh, “I’m sure it’s different for everybody. I really am sorry.”  
  
I make a point to breathe deeply to center myself, to make myself focus on what feels good in this moment--being against Justin--and dismissing my uneasy sensations. I want them to fade away.  
  
“Let me get you out of that thing, okay?”  
  
“How?” I ask.  
  
Justin reaches between my legs and starts exploring me with his fingertips; I feel a weird squeeze and then freedom. I exhale as Justin removes the toy, “It has a secret release button,” he explains. I stroke my cock to console it, but it doesn’t respond to me. We’re not on speaking terms I guess. Justin takes my hand and moves it away so he can stroke me. My dick is definitely more satisfied with that option.  
  
************* **  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
** _fifty minutes later…_  
  
I don’t want to argue with Brian but I also don’t want him to drive himself home. I lose the argument, but I’m following him on the highway; he promises not to speed. The downside to running that scene in Babylon was precisely this; the upside is that I think I got Brian closer to subspace than he’s ever been, maybe even on the doorstep. Something definitely happened to him.  
  
As I pull into the garage next to him, he turns to me and smiles. I’m not sure which Brian will get out of the car, but once we’re in the kitchen, he seems relieved that I’ll figure out dinner, and he asks me if can go upstairs and get out of his clothes. “Of course you can.” About ten minutes later, I find him lying on the golden yellow sofa in our front living room in one of the black robes I bought him. “Dinner’s ready.”  
  
Dinner with Brian is usually both of us eating and scrolling through our phones, sending articles to each other or reading our mail, but not tonight. Brian’s phone is not even with him. I ignore mine as well. I offer to clean up and send him back upstairs. He doesn’t object; he complies. With a smile.  
  
My husband. _Compliant._  
  
When I arrive in our bedroom a while later, Brian’s watching the earlier five o’clock episode of his business show that he missed during our adventure. As I get ready for bed in our bathroom, I almost ask him if he did his facial routine, but then I can tell he did because there are drops of water near the jars. He calls to me as if reading my mind, “You need to get your own face serum and stop using mine.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say as I exfoliate. “I’m way too young to use serums.”  
  
“Just hurry up,” Brian says.  
  
“I would use one on my ass if they made one for it,” I tell him.  
  
“You probably already do, and that’s why I’m always running out so fast.”  
  
When I join him in our bed, Brian’s nude and hard. He moves quickly--like one of those wall-climbing creepy monsters in scary movies--to tuck me underneath him and then instigates a make out session that knows will leave me breathless. He kisses me rabidly; his hands are everywhere at once. I slow him down at my own peril and ask him with as much sincerity as I can muster, “What is the meaning of this?”  
  
Brian laughs, “It’s only ten thirty, and my cock is raging.”  
  
“And this matters because…?”  
  
“Because you want me to be happy?” Brian offers in response.  
  
“I do want that,” I concede, “But what about keeping you in your place? I want that, too, and this isn’t your place.”  
  
Brian squeezes my entire body, stills it underneath him, brushes my hair from my face and speaks, “What you did to me tonight...even that weird reaction I had...I really liked it.”  
  
“You did?” I ask with a grin on my face.  
  
“I liked it the same way you like it when I paddle you too hard and it brings tears to your eyes.”  
  
“What did you like about it?” I ask him. “I want to cash in all my minutes right now.” I didn’t expect Brian to spill like this, but if he’s going to, I’m going to take advantage of it. “Don’t leave anything out.”  
  
Brian rolls off of me onto his side and props his head on his hand. “Okay, I like that you arranged the whole thing very carefully, that you knew how to get me through the uncomfortable parts quickly--”  
  
“Like that I knew better than to ask you if I could put a cage on you?”  
  
“Exactly. You knew when to surprise me and when to inform me. That you were perfectly willing to take that risk, and that we both would’ve been okay regardless of whether it paid off.”  
  
“Because we trust each other, Brian. We’ve built something between these sheets.”  
  
“We have. And I kind of liked feeling helpless in Babylon; I’ve never experienced that. You gave me a new kind of freedom. And I liked that even after a ruined orgasm, I was completely satisfied. That kind of freaked me out a little actually.”  
  
“I think you were more than satisfied,” I tell him, “I’m about ninety percent sure you were in subspace when it was over. I held you for a long time, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt that much vulnerability coming from you.”  
  
“I think I was,” he agrees.  
  
“That’s why I didn’t want you to drive yourself home. You were in an altered state.”  
  
“Justin, I’ve lived most of my adulthood in one altered state or another.”  
  
I laugh because he’s right. “I want to flog you again, that was what opened the door.”  
  
“I loved it. It was more relaxing than a massage to me.”  
  
Brian’s confession makes me so fucking happy. I won’t ever be able to run that exact scene again because the uncertainty of it was the entire point, but I learned a lot just by doing it. I’m right that Brian’s not motivated by pain the way I am; he doesn’t get off on overcoming it like I do, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy impact play. He absolutely does. I also reaffirmed that his lack of experience bottoming (compared to mine) makes his experiences very, very different. But different is okay.  
  
It’s also okay that he’s back on top of me, kissing me, running his hands down my back and between my cheeks. “You’re making me fucking crazy, Brian. Tell me what you want.”  
  
“Hmmm,” he says as his eyes flit up and then back to my face, “I really want to be inside you, but I think you should keep me in my place. I kind of like it here.”  
  
This gives me an idea, a rather cruel one, but I think that’s acceptable tonight. “Okay, let me up. I need to get a few things.” He immediately releases me with an expectant look on his face. I head for our closet, for a black bag I keep hidden in there. I gather what I need and return to him, sort of tucking it in the pillows where he can’t see it. I ask him to move to the center of our bed, to stay on his back, and to fold his hands on his stomach. I want him inside me, that urge is always so close to the surface. I want to enjoy that full feeling, but I want it to be agony for him.  
  
I lie down beside him to share a few things with him that he needs to know. My tone is sweet but determined. “One of the things I really like about you, Brian, is that you’re built from the ground up to please me, and I want you to understand that that’s the only thing I care about when I’m in charge. I care about how big your cock is, the many uses for your mouth, and how deep I can bury myself inside you.”  
  
“Mmmm. Noted.”  
  
“I’m going to train you to please me, and you might as well clear your calendar, because if I’m on your schedule, nothing else is. Do we understand each other?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good.” I reach under my pillow and pull out the set of restrictive steel cock rings I hid there, and begin strangling his ball sac with one of them and choking off his cock with the other. “Are you uncomfortable?” I ask him.  
  
“Very.”  
  
“Good.” Next, I sit up on my knees and admonish Brian to hold still while I sit on his face. I face the headboard and use it for leverage against his scruffy face, encouraging him to, “Eat me. Make me soaking wet.”  
  
“Can I touch you?” he asks when I let him breathe for a few moments.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Brian’s hands wrap around my thighs, and he moans as he tongues me, his thumbs keeping me spread apart. I rub myself all over his face; he kisses the inside of my thighs, licks my balls, urges my cock down his throat. I feel lightheaded and grab the headboard more tightly. As I fuck his face, he fingers my ass. I put one hand in his hair and yank, using his head as a steering wheel. When I’m ready, I move down his body and sit on his cock. He digs his fingers into my legs as I ride him mercilessly, making sure to sit all the way down over and over until I see true pangs of torture on his face. With no warning, I reach down and unsnap the ring on his balls and then on his cock. I push him deep inside me, and he cries out in agony at the rush of blood as I bring him to orgasm. “ _Goddamnit,_ ” he breathes as he comes, his chest arching up, his hands trying to hold my hips still for the event. I wait until he’s done writhing beneath me, pull out and scoot forward again, my thumb on his chin as I feed him my cock once more. He chokes on it as I come.  
  
Guess he’ll have to start his facial routine all over tonight.  
  
God, a little power is fucking delicious.


	26. Negotiations 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10/28/18-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 27**

****BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** Headspace is an interesting thing. I pay little attention to mine when I’m in a dominant role, perhaps because it feels so natural. Headspace as a submissive is altogether different. It’s much harder to control. I feel powerless over my powerlessness...a new experience for me. And yet, I like it. My work ethic, however, is not a fan. I spent the work day with Hillary, basically instructing her how to please me at work, and now I want to just think about nothing other than pleasing Justin at home.  
  
When I get in my car at the end of my work on Tuesday, I’m flooded with relief as I punch the gas pedal on the highway home. Relieved that I can think about him, just _this_ , just what we’ll do tonight. I think about the smile he’ll give me when I walk through the door, how he’ll want me to kiss him right then regardless of what he’s doing, how he’ll want to know how I am. And I’m right about all these things. He’s pulling oven mitts off his hands as I request, “Can we wait on dinner?”  
  
“You’re not hungry?” he asks.  
  
“Can I just go straight downstairs please?”  
  
Justin looks at me, his eyes carefully examining my face as he pulls me back to him by my waistband. We lean against the counter as I wait for an answer. “Bri, you okay?” he asks.  
  
I lean down and rest my forehead on his shoulder; he strokes my hair as I tell him quietly, “It’s in my head constantly. I can’t think about anything else.” I feel him smile. He answers, “Sure, it’s just stew. Everything is ready for you down there. Go ahead.”  
  
“Thank you.” He releases me, and I turn to walk the few steps to the basement door when I remember to ask, “What do I do?”  
  
“Get undressed and wait for me. It’ll be self-explanatory.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
My heart’s racing as I go down the wooden steps even though my body takes each step deliberately because now this path is new to me; I don’t walk down these steps feeling like I do now; I want to savor it. I pass through the wine cellar, and then stand at the dungeon door. It’s unlocked. I walk inside and feel instantly rewarded. The room’s warm from the fire and there’s a futon mattress on the floor in front of the flames that I completely forgot was stuffed under the four poster bed in here. There’s a wooden tray on the far side holding towels, lube, a black leather flogger, a black silk blindfold coiled in place, and a black velvet bag that I recognize immediately. It’s the pouch for his diamond plug. Assuming we’ll be spending our time on the floor, I use the bed as my clothing rack as I undress. I check my phone one last time, turn it off, and then lie down in front of the fire. I don’t stay there long as I feel awkward. I decide to kneel instead, my hands folded in my lap, my head bowed. It’s not really for him; I need to center myself. I breathe deeply--in and out--repeatedly, smiling when I hear his footsteps on the stairs.  
  
This is my place.  
  
**************  
Justin enters, thanks me for following instructions, kicks his shoes off, and kneels down in front of me on the mattress. He presses his forehead to mine, his hand resting on my shoulder as he speaks, “Tell me what’s happening.”  
  
I don’t raise my head; I stay still as I answer, “I think about this all day long.”  
  
“Can you be more specific?”  
  
“About you fucking me, in charge of me; I can’t stop thinking about it.” It feels good to just admit this to him, to say it aloud.  
  
“Does it play in a loop?”  
  
I nod, “Yes, and I can feel all of it, everything. I could almost come if I let myself.”  
  
“But you didn’t?” He strokes both shoulders like I’m being hysterical or something. Fuck, maybe I am. I don’t even know.  
  
“No, I didn’t.”  
  
“Did you touch yourself at all?” he asks me as he slides his hand down my chest to my cock, and my entire body trembles when he wraps his hand around it.  
  
“No, but I imagined it, which was almost worse.”  
  
He hugs me; I lay my head on his shoulder as he observes, “Your entire body is vibrating right now.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I missed you, too,” he says and then he lifts my head which feels heavier than it ever has and kisses me, softly but intensely. It’s meant to comfort me. “Would you feel better if I let you come, Brian?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“I think you would.” His thumb skims the head of my cock, “You’re so wet.”  
  
Justin blindfolds me and makes me jerk off for him while he gets undressed. He lays a soft towel on my leg when I’m close, and as I’m coming, I feel him standing in front of me. He lifts my chin, and put his dick in my mouth. He chokes me with it, and I struggle not to bite him as my release completes. I moan loudly as he leans over me, his hand rubbing my back. My eyes start to water as I gag.  
  
Finally, he lets me go.  
  
I cough several times as he slides the blindfold off and tells me to lie down. “Just relax, Brian.” So I do. He lies next to me as I recover by clearing my throat over and over. When I finally finish, he asks, “Did that loop stop?”  
  
My eyes scan the room as I try to answer correctly, “Yes, it stopped.”  
  
“Good, but now, you telling me about that loop is playing on a loop in my head.” We both laugh. Justin continues, “But I’ve thought about fucking you a lot today.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says as he slides on top of me. “I think about what it feels like on the first thrust, about how I can feel your entire body adjust and accept me. The way you hold your breath at first, the tension in your muscles, the expression on your face right before the ecstasy kicks in.”  
  
“My loop is back,” I tease.  
  
He grins, “And then I thought about how I want to fist you eventually--”  
  
“I knew that was gonna come up,” I tell him.  
  
“But I’m not in a rush. We’ll take our time.”  
  
I have a beautiful memory about fisting Justin that is never far from my mind. We’re on vacation on the whitest sheets. He’s on his back with my hand completely inside him; his arms are tied over his head, and come is just pulsing out of his cock and pooling on his stomach. I remember that moment distinctly and then the hour afterward when he stayed tucked in my arms using our physical connection as life support.  
  
The vulnerability exposed in that moment felt like a gift to me…  
  
And that makes me remember…  
  
“I bought something today,” I tell him this as he’s depositing kisses across my shoulder blades.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s in my briefcase. Go look.”  
  
He gives me a funny look as he gets up and walks to the bed. He flips open my briefcase and pulls out the white mailing tube, “This?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Dungeon blueprints?” he jokes.  
  
“Nope. Open it.”  
  
Justin pops the white plastic top off and pulls out the thick brown leather flogger slowly as it’s snug in the tube. When he sees the tiny spikes on the end of the leather strips, he presses them with his fingertips; his breath hitches and he snaps, “Ow. These are sharp.”  
  
“Do you like it?”  
  
“Where’d you get it?”  
  
“That leather store on Liberty; it’s completely handmade.”  
  
“It’s heavy. How much?”  
  
“Three fifty.”  
  
“The craftsmanship is astounding,” Justin says as his fingers explore it. “Did you test it before you bought it?”  
  
“On my arm. It’s pretty fierce.”  
  
Justin does the same and says, “Whoa.”  
  
“I know, right?”  
  
He sits back down beside and speaks in a patronizing tone, “You know you can’t just start with this, right? You have to build up to it.”  
  
“Yes, Sir. I’m aware.”  
  
“Ew, don’t call me, Sir. That feels all kinds of wrong,” Justin complains.  
  
“I was doing it in jest. You call me Sir sometimes.”  
  
“That’s completely different,” he says. “You were born a Sir.”  
  
I suppose he’s right.  
  
……..  
  
It seems the evening has taken a bit of a weird turn which sort of makes me frustrated because I wanted this time to explore my headspace a little more, but now I’m uncomfortable with Justin’s headspace.  
  
 _This is exhausting._ And being exhausted in bed with Justin is usually a good thing, damn it.  
  
I prop myself on my side and face him. He’s sitting cross legged in front of me with the new flogger draped across his legs. “You look a little lost, Justin.”  
  
He looks down and toys with the flogger as he speaks, “I guess I kind of am.”  
  
“Do you want me to come find you and bring you home?”  
  
“No, that’s not fair to you,” he says with a shrug, and then he looks up at me earnestly, “This is like one of those Rubik’s cubes that frustrates the hell out of you, so you just want to cheat and move the stickers.”  
  
“Were you playing with your Dad’s cube? That’s an old school hack, Sunshine.”  
  
“Maybe I was,” he says, and he pokes me in the stomach with his foot. I catch it and yank him forward, “Put that flogger down and come here.” He sits it aside and lies next to me. I put my hand on his chest and he twines his fingers with mine as I talk, “All day long, you’re all I could think about. I wanted to come home and be at your mercy, even though I had no clue what that would mean. And I still want that.”  
  
His blue eyes are wide open, “I should buy the sex toys for you; I should know what you want.”  
  
“Please don’t be upset about that. Think of it as an offering, not an afront. I really like when you flog me. It feels like a reset, like you’re commanding my attention.”  
  
“Okay, but we need to start slowly with the spikes. They’ll mark you if there’s any power behind them. Plus, it’s way heavier and longer than the one I practiced with.”  
  
I reassure him, “Justin, I only went shopping because I couldn’t clear my head--”  
  
“And that’s what you always do when you’re preoccupied,” he adds, “But it didn’t work,did it?”  
  
”Of course not. Can I just lay it next to my head so I can smell it? The smell of new leather makes me hard.”  
  
“Everything makes you hard, Brian.”  
  
Justin gets up and turns off the overhead lights, and then returns to me, the black velvet bag in his hand. Before I can even say anything, he’s pulling out his expensive toy and asking me, “Do this for me, okay?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
It’s a known known that I will take my time with this, that I will make sure he enjoys every second of it as he lies on top of me, hugging my shoulders, moaning into my neck. When it’s done, he thanks me and runs one fingertip down my cheekbone as he whisper, “ _When I fuck you--_  
  
“I know,” I say, “ _Push._ You don’t have to tell me.”  
  
He smiles at me, kisses me, and then blindfolds me again, positioning my arms so they’re over my head. He lays the new flogger across my neck; it’s heavy so it feels like a brace. I like the restriction. He lays the other flogger on my stomach and runs his hand over my chest. The routine begins: his touch alternating with the slap of the leather. I exhale, relax, and enjoy.  
  
He rubs my stomach and then impact, my cock, another slap, my thighs, _whoosh_ , slap, repeat…and then he moves back up my body, only now, he flogs first, then rubs. The heat from the fire, the darkness, the rhythm puts me in a trance…  
  
I whisper his name, and he responds, “Hmm?”  
  
“Don’t stop, okay?”  
  
His hand brushes my forehead, “Do you want to roll over or stay like this?”  
  
“Up and down five times, then roll over and repeat.”  
  
He whispers, “Okay,” and kisses me. “I’ll start over so it’s not interrupted.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure.”  
  
……..  
  
This sustained treatment Justin gives me allows me to untether myself from the wall of the pool we play in. That wall, that concrete border, is the dominance I rely on to get through the day, through life, through pain, and each strike of the flogger compromises my connection. What at first is a nuisance quickly morphs into an affirmation that I don’t need that wall to exist and it doesn’t need me. I can wander out into the middle of the pool and decide how deep I want to go or I can hang onto the rope between the shallow and the deep. I can just _be_.  
  
I’m on my back, floating in our pool, when the new flogger is lifted off my neck. “Keep your legs bent and spread,” Justin says quietly like this is a covert operation. I feel the leather strips heavy on my balls and hold my breath as he carefully drags the length of the strands between my legs, over my cock and then my chest. He is careful, but the threat of pain is there.  
  
When the ritual is over and he’s inside me, I’m underwater in the darker blue, in the deep, but I can breathe. I can exist to give him pleasure; I can feel every drop of me that he takes, and yet, it does not deplete me. He can fill me up and syphon off the rest for himself. I am changed yet still unaltered.  
  
I am his.  
…….  
  
Justin naps next to me when it’s over, his back to the flames which by now I know are too hot. I move very carefully to reach the fireplace remote and turn it all the way down to burning embers. He wakes and rolls back on top of me, ordering me, “Don’t move.”  
  
“I was saving your skin; look it that way,” I offer.  
  
“Thank you for that fuck,” he says.  
  
“You’re very welcome,” I respond, running my hands down his burning back, over his ass, my fingers circling the plug, “I pushed like you said.”  
  
“That sent me over the edge; that was insanely amazing.”  
  
“Well, it cost me a mint, so it better be that good.”  
  
“Our sex toy budget is gonna be a line item on our taxes, Brian.”  
  
“I tried that last year. Theodore said no.”  
  
Justin laughs, “You should try this plug sometime, see what it feels like.”  
  
“All you have to do is make me.”  
  
Justin’s expression changes from a smile to a curious stare, his eyes narrow, “That is _the hottest_ thing you’ve ever said to me, Brian.”  
  
“Oh, I doubt that.”  
  
“Don’t doubt it,” he scolds me.  
  
And our journey continues....


	27. Negotiations 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1/13/19-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 28**

**  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** This particular Wednesday will prove to be one I’ll never forget. I awaken at six a.m., half an hour before my alarm is set to go off, and have a severe case of morning coitus compulsion that I pray is contagious. On any other day prior to the last two weeks, I would’ve just taken what I wanted, end of story. I pause and consider that avenue, but ultimately decide against it because as Justin and I have methodically established: it’s not my place.  
  
But I refuse to give up that easily.  
  
He’s zonked out on his side and facing away from me, and my approach with my hand snaking around his waist goes completely unnoticed. I kiss the warm skin behind his ear and press myself against him. He mumbles something but he’s not talking to me. He’s dreaming. My clock is ticking though; I don’t have much time. “ _Justin,_ ” I whisper.  
  
“Mmmm?”  
  
“I have a little time; I want to fuck.” (Subtlety is a luxury I don’t have time for right now.)  
  
“Mmm, no,” he says.  
  
“Please?” I try.  
  
His eyes open and there’s a look of pure irritation on his face that, at first, I think is because of what I want, but he quickly sets me straight, “Fuck, Brian. I was having the best dream.”  
  
“About what?” I ask, making sure he can feel my morning wood against his ass.  
  
“I was at a salad bar, at a restaurant that was all salad bars everywhere--”  
  
“Gross.”  
  
“No, it was amazing, and I had a paper plate full of salad I was about to eat, and it was sagging from so much food, and I was about to put more on the plate, and you woke me up.”  
  
“Well, I can toss that salad for you if you like,” I offer.  
  
He rolls his eyes with contempt, “I was about to put Skittles on top, and I was so hungry.”  
  
I reassess the situation, “Ok, I don’t think you’re awake.”  
  
He continues speaking into his pillow, very frustrated, “I’m not but now it’s gone.”  
  
“I have something better than that for you,” I try again, “And twenty five minutes to make you forget all about that salad.”  
  
“I don’t want to forget about it. I _loved_ it.”  
  
“You’ll love _this_ ,” I tell him as I palm his bottom. He has the nerve to moan and then tell me no again. “Why?” I demand.  
  
“Biology,” he says definitively. I can’t hide my disappointment as I sigh, but I can’t argue with him either. I decide to dry hump him and get something good out of this. “You’re crazy,” he says as I rut against him, my cock in his crack, “Don’t get mad if I fart.”  
  
 _God, he’s so hot…._  
  
“I just want you. I can’t help it,” I defend.  
  
He turns his head back and kisses me, “That’s sweet, but don’t make a mess all over me.”  
  
“I won’t. I have a towel.”  
  
“Mmm’kay.”  
  
He’s almost asleep again when I come, the rocking of our hips sent him right back to dreamland. Now, I want him even more. That compromised liaison just made everything worse.  
  


***************

****JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
** It’s ten o’clock on Wednesday morning when Harper opens her front door and finds me, apparently unsurprisingly, standing on her front porch. She’s wearing denim cut off shorts, a crop top and an apron with bare feet which is utterly ridiculous because it’s not spring yet. It’s a balmy fifty two degrees. Harper’s one of those people who dresses for the season she wants it to be, not the season it is. Her hair is in what a generous person would call a messy bun and I’m pretty sure there’s flour in it. She’s grinning at me like a Halloween pumpkin as she leans on her door jamb with an oversized glass of cheap pink wine in her hand. Again, it’s ten in the morning. “I’ve been expecting you!” she says with way too much exuberance as she leans forward, snatches the front of my winter coat and yanks me into her house.  
  
“I didn’t even call or text,” I say in my defense.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. I could feel it in the air, plus, your show ended and you’re getting morose like always. Come in!”  
  
“Where is Sam?” I ask.  
  
She raises her eyebrows at me to let me know that she’s happy that, “He’s on _assignment._ ”  
  
“With who?”  
  
“Some Pittsburgh publication, and, thank god, because I needed him out of this house.”  
  
There’s no way on this earth that Harper doesn’t know what publication, where he is at exactly this moment, and how much Sam’s getting paid for every minute of his time because she reviews all their contracts, but this is her way of letting me know that two artists in one house is a recipe for disaster. Plus, the kitchen we’re in is completely destroyed, and Sam would be in a straight jacket if he were here with us right now in this mess. “What are you making or attempting to make?” I ask.  
  
“I made three kinds of muffins from scratch. Want some wine? Let’s snack!”  
  
“I already ate,” I tell her.  
  
“So eat again,” she pushes.  
  
“I don’t do that. I don’t eat a meal twice.”  
  
She spins around from her plate preparations for us and waves a butter knife at me, “You are not fat, Justin. Do not start the ‘I hate my body’ shit.”  
  
“I’m not.” (Well, I was going to, but fuck it now.)  
  
“Good,” she says as she turns back around preparing food for me anyway, “So this is really about your art then? You’re getting worked up like always?”  
  
“It’s not _always_.”  
  
“Do you want this awful wine or some orange juice?”  
  
“Juice, please.”  
  
“You have to try all of these. Clive said the show went great. He was thrilled.”  
  
“Harper, these muffins are like triple sized,” I protest.  
  
“Triple the love. Did Brian go with you? He was there?”  
  
“Yep, he came. He hung back a bit though so the trolls would open their wallets.”  
  
Harper looks up from our muffin fest and locks eyes with me, “You only call them trolls after the money’s in the bank, Justin.”  
  
“I know. Otherwise, they’re ‘clients.’”  
  
“I wish my clients wanted to fuck me,” she opines.  
  
“Harper, you do mostly graphic design for weddings and shit.”  
  
“There could be a threesome, jeez.”  
  
“During the engagement?”  
  
“You’re a buzzkill, Justin. Plain and simple. Let’s go sit in the den and be depressed, like old times.”  
  
Even though I hate that she’s mostly always right about what mood I’m in or what’s bothering me, even if we haven’t seen each other for a month, I still hate that she can snap her fingers and psychoanalyze me in ten seconds or less. We sit facing each other on opposite ends of her sofa, each of us with our feet stuffed under the middle cushion. I’m now drinking a box of the worst wine I’ve ever tasted. I think it’s Target’s brand. The socioeconomic differences between Harper and I have never mattered in our friendship, but I still feel like I’m committing some upper class crime drinking this shit.  
  
“How can I help you?” she says, poking me feet with hers. “I hate when you feel down. It breaks my heart.”  
  
“Don’t be melodramatic.”  
  
“I’m halfway day drunk, Sunshine,” she says.  
  
“Don’t call me that. Please, don’t.”  
  
“I’m sorry. That was a sneaky test. So what’s wrong with you and Brian? I want to help before I need a nap.”  
  
She makes me laugh, and that makes her so freaking happy. I smile at her stupid joy. “There’s nothing wrong with us. _We’re_ great.”  
  
“So, this is you. Okay. I’m ready,” she says, “Hit me as hard you can.”  
  
See, this is the inner truth of my friendship with Harper. This is the core, this strong as steel bond we have that makes it okay and even normal for me to just show up whenever I want when we’ve talked nothing but paint and canvas orders for three months. She’s always the same, always present, always willing, always there with anything I need. I could say anything right now; I could tell her that I brutally murdered our neighbor for shooting hoops at four in the morning (which, full disclosure, I almost did), and she would nod and take it in and help me cover up the crime. Then she’d lie her ass off to the cops and, if that didn’t work, she’d go to jail for me. I’d have to pay her a lot of money, but she would fucking do it. The problem is, I don’t know where to even start. I’m silent for too long, so she jabs me with her foot, “Do you want me to start guessing?”  
  
“Sure,” I concede because that seems easier.  
  
“Okay,” she looks up and away and then back at me, “Brian’s implicated in an undercover narcotics ring and the feds have turned him. He’s gonna testify and you’re both going into witness protection.”  
  
I roll my eyes at her and try not to smile, “Yep, bingo. You got it.”  
  
“But they have to change Brian’s appearance to keep him safe so no more huge cock.”  
  
I throw a pillow at her and she squeals, “Oh my god, I’m right!”  
  
“Shut up. You’re an idiot.”  
  
“Okay, maybe, and I’m just spitballing here, but maybe they could do a dick swap with Sam for Brian’s protection.”  
  
“No, because Sam would end up with a herniated disc from having to carry just a huge cock around for the rest of his life.”  
  
“We all make sacrifices for our country, Justin. I would fuck Sam in a wheelchair for patriotism and shit.”  
  
“Of course you would.”  
  
“Okay, should I guess again?” she asks me.  
  
“No, please no.” Harper sighs and gives me an expectant look, so I just fess up, “Okay, okay, you’re right; it’s what happens every time. It’s happening again. I have zero inspiration, no clue where my next work will come from. And I _know_ that I’m lucky I don’t have to punch a clock everyday, and that I’m extremely fortunate that I don’t even have to work if I don’t want to, but I fucking _hate_ this feeling, Harper. It gets worse every time.”  
  
“I know, sweetie. I know.”  
  
“I have to figure out how to handle this, or I just need to quit art altogether because the lows don’t even make the highs worth it.”  
  
Harper’s sets her wine glass aside and leans forward, her arms wrapped around her knees, “Every artist goes through this, actors, musicians, writers, you-name-it. This is the emotional landscape of being an artist. Maybe you should purposely schedule vacations or some other activity in the month after the show so you can get out of your own head. We could take the kids bowling after school today if you want.”  
  
“No, thanks. I hate myself for allowing myself to succumb to this shit. I know it’s going to happen. Why can’t I just stop it?”  
  
“Maybe because this journey is more necessary than you realize?”  
  
“You got anything stronger than this piss wine?” I ask.  
  
Harper looks away in thought, and then her eyes come back to my face, “Sam hides Vodka in our closet. Hang on.”  
  
After a few shots that Harper doesn’t participate in, I feel more relaxed and decide that it’s in my best interest just to spill all my guts all over her tacky sofa which I’m pretty sure she got at a yard sale. “Also... Brian’s going through a lot, and his birthday’s the end of next month. He requires a lot attention this time of year, plus his mom fucking died in September and he didn’t even tell me until a couple of weeks ago.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“She fell and hit her head at home and bled out. Brian found her, and then _left her there_ for a whole day before going back and calling an ambulance.”  
  
“Oh my god. We should send a card--”  
  
“No, no, no. Don’t do that. He planned the funeral, buried her, and then sold her house all without saying shit to me. If you send a card, he’ll know I told you all this.”  
  
“Justin, I don’t understand. Why would he do all that in secret?”  
  
My hand’s clasped around the neck of the bottle of vodka, “Because, apparently, when he found her like that....it brought back what happened to me...when I was bashed...and he freaked out and completely shut down.”  
  
“Whoa. Poor Brian, and his mom. How horrible.”  
  
“There’s no love lost between them, trust me.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“And he and I, we worked through it, I just….”  
  
“Just what?” she asks.  
  
“I don’t know. I’m just, this is going to sound horrible--”  
  
“That’s okay.”  
  
“I will always be worried about him. It’s never going to go away, you know? And I push my own issues, this cyclical depression I get, I push it down and away all the time because of him. And he’s in therapy with Jon, and he makes progress, but I can’t because I can never stop worrying.”  
  
“I know exactly what you mean, Justin.”  
  
“I know you do. You’re the only person who does.”  
  
“I still worry about Alan and he’s long gone. I dream that he’s still alive and that, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get help to him, and then I wake up and remember that he’s gone.”  
  
“Harper, please don’t cry because I’ll start, and won’t be able to stop.”  
  
She dabs her eyes and smiles through the familiar pain, “Have you told Brian about how you feel?”  
  
I sigh, “The thing is, he knows. He’s damaged from what happened to me and so am I. And we both know. We know what we can change and what we can’t. He’s not the issue. I’m my own problem.” And then I pause, look out her front window, and then back to her expectant, patient face, “I know that what I’m about to say...I know that you will understand this….”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
I feel like I’m pushing a boulder off of me as I speak, “The degree to which I’ll worry about him or obsess about Brian’s shortcomings in order to _not_ have to deal with my own feelings, it’s fucking terrifying, Harper.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And I hate myself for being that way.”  
  
“Justin, everybody does that. That’s what art is in a way, a misplacement of emotion, but all of it, the evasion and the subsequent art is part of the same solar system. It’s all in the same rotation. If it doesn’t come through the front door, it’ll be knocking at the back.”  
  
“I still hate myself for it,” I admit.  
  
Harper pulls herself together, resting her chin on her elbows which are perched on her knees, “Justin, that hate you feel for yourself is in the same rotation, too. You don’t get to escape from any of this; you just keep meeting it in different forms.”  
  
“Even my own personal angst is self-indulgent. I’m a fraud.”  
  
“Honey, look, some things just are what they are. Sam knows everything about me; he knows how I’m going to feel about something before I even feel it. He just tells me he loves me and gives me the space to work through the pain when it won’t subside. I know Brian does the same for you in his own way.”  
  
“He over-provides. It’s how he copes.”  
  
“It sounds to me like you’re afraid to lean on him when you’re down. You think he’s too fragile?”  
  
“He’s a giant paradox, he’s the strongest fragile person I know.”  
  
“So you need to figure out how you’re going to cope.”  
  
“I’m an artist; I’m supposed to cope through my art.”  
  
“You do. Your pain is all over your art.”  
  
“Right, but when my inspiration dries up or my muse goes on walkabout, I fall apart. When I can’t paint, I feel like a million puzzle pieces frozen in a glacier. I can see the picture I’m supposed to make, but I can’t move the pieces.”  
  
“What melts the ice, Justin?”  
  
“Climate change?” I offer.  
  
Harper laughs, “The world’s only getting warmer. That bodes well for your future.”  
  
“Ha ha.”  
  
Harper scoots closer to me, our knees now touching, her hands resting on top of mine, “Take comfort in knowing that the ice _will_ melt in this metaphor. I’m a big believer in the idea that the pain we go through in life is necessary; it’s what births inspiration. Without it, we’d have nothing to create. And your muse is not a robot; you can’t turn her on and off. She’s a moody bitch, and she’ll show up when she feels like it. And when she does, you put out the welcome mat, make her some coffee, and put her to work.” She smiles at me, gets up and says, “Come here, I want to show you something.”  
  
I follow her down the hall of her little ranch house to a closed door at the very end. She reaches above the door jamb, retrieves a key, and unlocks it. This room is literally the size of our master closet, but more art spills out of here than anyone would believe. When I step inside, I feel like I’m inside a Jackson Pollock painting while it’s being made. There’s paint _everywhere_. Some of it’s actually on canvases, and a lot of it’s splattered on the windows, walls and even the ceiling. “Jesus, Harper. Did you let the kids loose in here?”  
  
She grins, “Nope, this is all me. I’ve been taking pictures of my finished ones and emailing libraries, cafes, coffee shops, and even some kids’ activity places and offering it as free decor. A lot of people take me up on it. There are a lot of my canvases hanging all around town. There are some in the kids’ school, too.”  
  
“So that’s why you’ve been ordering so many.”  
  
“Yeah, and when does our order come? I need more.”  
  
“Actually, I just got a text that they were delivered about five minutes ago.”  
  
“Oh, fabulous! This is perfect. We can take your car, load them up and bring them back here.”  
  
“Put on some winter clothes,” I advise her, “It’s freezing outside.”  
  
“Okay, okay, I’ll change,” she bemoans, “Just give me five minutes.”  
  
As I wait, I conclude that not only does Harper’s muse not go on walkabout, it’s quite likely she’s a shut in who trips on Ecstasy.  
  
Why can’t my muse be a tweaked out junkie?  
  
***************  
 _two and a half hours later…_  
  
My perfect plan for that Wednesday primarily involved trying to get out of my own head. I tend to get stuck in there sometimes after a show (pathetically, even after a sold out one). I intended to visit Harper for some much needed bonding and emotional nourishment, to unpack and distribute our huge canvas order, and then to spend some dungeon time with Brian. That did more than just not go according to plan. It went to complete shit. By Wednesday at two o’clock, I’m checking out at our local orthopedic urgent care after being treated for a mild concussion and what was, thankfully, only a badly _sprained_ ankle.  
  
By the time Harper helps me hobble to the car, my phone was ringing. It was Brian; the credit card company must’ve sent a text about the charge.  
  
“Justin, are you okay?” Brian sounds slightly panicked but he’s trying to hide it pretty decently.  
  
I reassure him, “Yes, yes. I thought I broke my ankle, but it’s just a really bad sprain. I have to ride with Harper to pick up the kids, and then I’ll be home.”  
  
“Just stay there,” Brian says, “I’m on my way. I’ll take you home.”  
  
There’s no sense arguing with him so I don’t, “It’s the one on Randall Road, the new one.”  
  
“Okay, hang tight. I’m coming.”  
  
***************  
Because the pharmacy needs time to fill my pain pills and neither Brian nor I have had lunch, we go through a deli drive thru and get sandwiches. I can’t remember the last time I was allowed to eat in this car. Brian turns and leans against his car door and the interrogation begins, “So explain to me how this happened?”  
  
“We were carrying canvases, and I tripped on a step while walking backwards and twisted my ankle which caused me to fall and hit my head.”  
  
“Those canvases are huge. I don’t understand why you two can’t just wait for me and Sam to help you.”  
  
“We could, but we thought we had it. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” The last time I ate this particular sandwich, Brian put in a dog bowl for me.  
  
“Some of them are practically bigger than you are. You should wait for me,” Brian says.  
  
“It’s okay. Shit happens sometimes.”  
  
Brian shakes his head and then rubs the back of my head, “Does it hurt? Is there a bump?”  
  
“Yes, a little pain, a little bump, probably not a concussion. The doctor was just covering all his bases.”  
  
“So you were going up the stairs to your studio?”  
  
I sigh, “No, I tripped on the front stoop. We were going to my car. My ankle bent sideways and that’s all it took.”  
  
“Because of that loose brick? You landed on the sidewalk?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ow. We’ll find somebody to fix that when we get home.”  
  
“Thanks for coming to get me.”  
  
Brian nods, “No problem. It was my pleasure.” He smiles at me as he chews the last of his sandwich.  
  
My phone buzzed, a text from the pharmacy. “My pills are ready.”  
  
“I assume you told them no Codeine?”  
  
“Yes, of course. It’s Tramadol.”  
  
Brian refuses to let me use my crutches when we get home. Over my vociferous yet pointless objections, he carries me into the house.  
  
*************** **  
**Brian, now husband turned nurse, props me on one of the side sofas in our home theater with my ankle elevated and iced and a pill on my tongue. “What is this weird tape on your foot?” he asks me.  
  
“It’s kinesthetic tape. Ace bandages are old school, apparently. Supposedly, it’s holding my ligaments in the right place. He said it’s basically water proof if I just take a quick shower.”  
  
Brian’s eyebrows raise, “Huh, pretty cool.” He stands in our foyer marveling at the huge number of boxed canvases everywhere and remarks, “Okay, let’s be realistic about this. I’ll have one of my bouncers at Babylon come get these tomorrow in one of our vans. I don’t even think you can fit these huge ones in your Jeep.”  
  
“I was kind of worried they wouldn’t fit.” I watch Brian as he opens the front door and then disappears outside to examine the broken bricks on our front stoop. He comes back in and announces that he’s going to upstairs to google a contractor. “Can I ask a favor first?” I try.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Can I have one of those bottles of Riesling from the cellar?”  
  
Brian laughs, “To mix with your pain pills?”  
  
“Yes, please?”  
  
“I’ll think about it. Let me go find a contractor first.” I sigh and he disappears upstairs. He returns in about twenty minutes telling me that they are coming before lunch tomorrow, and that he’ll stay home from work. (Of course.)  
  
“You don’t need to do that, Brian.”  
  
“I managed to get Cynthia there tomorrow, so they’ll be fine.”  
  
“Can I have my wine now?”  
  
“One one condition,” Brian offers.  
  
“What condition?”  
  
“That once I give it to you, you talk to me about what’s bothering you.”  
  
“Nothing’s bothering me,” I lie.  
  
“Justin, you haven’t shaved since Sunday, and you were at Harper’s before lunch today, and those are two telltale signs you’re frustrated and don’t want to be in your studio.”  
  
“So what? I’m frustrated like always--”  
  
“You can talk to _me_ ,” Brian defends, “You always run to her.”  
  
“I don’t want to talk to you about it because you’re always so black and white about everything, and, while, granted, you’re usually right, it never makes me feel any better.”  
  
“Ouch. I need to go find my own pain pills. I’ll get your Riesling, too.” He disappears again and I start pulling a thread on my shirt, not caring that the hem is now unraveling.  
  
Upon returning, Brian sits beside me with a beer in his hand offering me the bottle of wine, opened, no glass. “Knock yourself out,” he says, and then he laughs at his own accidental joke, “Because you almost did anyway.”  
  
I take a huge swig and reiterate, “I’m serious when I say that I do not want to talk about this.”  
  
“Why?” Brian asks.  
  
“Because I detest the way the words sound coming out of my mouth, that’s why. Because I’m basically a spoiled, rich and ungrateful man--”  
  
“You’re not that rich,” Brian jokes.  
  
“That’s what I mean. I’m basically a kept man with no real problems.”  
  
“What is it that you _think_ I’m going to say?” Brian asks me.  
  
I consider his question for several seconds while noting that I can feel the pain pills coursing through my veins as I answer, “It’s basically just, ‘Blah, blah, blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.”  
  
“Wow,” Brian responds.  
  
“This is why I talk to Harper and not you. It’s the world’s fucking stupidest cyclical depression.”  
  
Brian just stares at me for a minute before adding, “Pain birthes art, right? Even if you are feeling down, that ultimately fosters the work, right?”  
  
“Great, now you sound like Harper.”  
  
“Well, isn’t that what you want? You run to her anyway.”  
  
“I do not _run_. I just like her energy sometimes.”  
  
“Because it’s female.”  
  
“Maybe. I don’t know.”  
  
Brian takes away my wine and sits his beer down before wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tightly. He kisses the top of my head before saying, “You will paint again, Justin. You will find your way in.”  
  
“I know, but I _hate_ this part of the creative process,” I complain pushing against his embrace which accomplishes nothing. He just holds me more tightly. Brian leans down, puts his lips by my ear and whispers, _“I can make you feel better than your pain pills do._ ”  
  
“I don’t know about that. I’m kind of buzzed at this point.”  
  
“Yes, Harper mentioned that you were doing shots before lunch.” Great, he called her. “You’re the hottest piece of day drunk white trash I’ve ever met,” Brian says as he slips his hands under my shirt.  
  
I push them down and out. “Just quit, okay? Just let me be frustrated right now.”  
  
Brian exhales, “Fine. I’ll deal with you later.”  
  
***************  
 _another two and half hours later…_  
  
The first thing that tickles my brain awake is Brian’s voice. He’s not with me; he’s not talking to me…  
  
“ _So here’s what I want: I want all three versions in my office first thing Friday morning. No, not tomorrow. I won’t be in tomorrow.”_  
  
I blink several times and try to sit up, wiping the drool off my face.  
  
“ _If you have questions, just text me. I’ll be working from home. He’s fine. No broken bones, just a bad sprain--_ ”  
  
That’s when I feel it, the throbbing pain in my foot. That’s when I realize I’m in our bed in the dark, sweating profusely beneath an afghan. The light from the hallway casts into Brian’s office; I hear the wheels of his desk chair rolling across the floor seconds before he appears in the doorway still sitting in it, a pen in his mouth. He acknowledges me with sarcasm, “Good almost evening, Sunshine. Please don’t try to get up.”  
  
“Did you carry me up the freaking stairs?”  
  
He’s very self-satisfied, “I did. I’m surprised you don’t remember. You bitched at me the entire way.”  
  
I see my crutches leaning against the wall near the fireplace. “I really have to pee.”  
  
“I’m sure you do. You drank an entire bottle of wine, a five hundred dollar one.”  
  
I touch my chest to see if I’m naked. I’m not. I’m just really hot and really out of it. “I’m sweating,” I say.  
  
“I’m coming,” Brian responds. He turns on our bedroom light forcing me to shield my eyes. “Let me take your jeans off.”  
  
“Jeez, can I pee before we fuck?”  
  
Brian laughs, “It will be easier to pee if you take them off, Blondie.” He toussels my hair and undresses me, “It’s a good thing your fashion sense is always a few years behind or these would be skinny jeans, and your foot is so swollen, I’d have to cut them off of you.”  
  
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I admonish him. I mean about my fashion sense but I guarantee you he thinks it’s about taking scissors to clothing.  
  
“I meant it with love, I promise.” He leans down, scoops me up and carries me into our bathroom. “You’re going to do this sitting down,” he announces.  
  
“You’re being really bossy, and I’m barely awake.”  
  
“You are not going to re-injure your foot. How’s your head? Does it still hurt?”  
  
“I feel like my brain’s inside a white noise machine,” I complain.  
  
Brian puts his hand on my chin and tilts my head up, “Look at me, eyes wide open.”  
  
I stare at him in enough defiance that he has to try not to laugh, “Your pupils are the same size and are reacting normally. That’s a good sign. Your head, does it hurt?”  
  
I rub the knot on the back of my head, “Not unless I touch it.”  
  
“Good, I’m hungry. Want pizza?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” I flush the toilet and am delivered back to our bed with Prince Charming precision.  
  
“You want the usual?” Brian asks.  
  
I nod and really look at my foot. It looks horrible. There’s a blue hue on the outside of my foot contrasting with this crazy pink and black tape that’s all over it. It’s ridiculously swollen. I touch it and wish I hadn’t.  
  
***************  
Dinner in our bed is an ice pack of broccoli from our freezer for my foot, a delicious pizza, the last bottle of our five hundred dollar Riesling which we share, and another pain pill. Somehow it turns into a pretty decent, albeit, expensive date. “All of this reminds of how you took care of me after I got hurt,” I tell Brian as he pulls apart another piece of pizza for me.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“I hated having those nightmares, but I loved waking up in your spider-like grasp.”  
  
“Oh, that reminds me,” Brian says as he jumps up, “I got you a little surprise when Sam brought your car back.” He disappears into his office and in seconds he’s back in our bed with an offering - a bag of Skittles. “Here,” he says, “And I put gas in your car.” This is why I love him.  
  
“Thanks. I don’t have a salad to sprinkle these on.”  
  
“I think they’re better a la carte.”  
  
“Probably. And remember when you were sick, how you’d come from work around three completely exhausted, and just lay your head in my lap while we watched movies?”  
  
“I do remember that,” Brian concedes.  
  
“And how you used to fuss at me for stroking your hair because you thought it would encourage it to fall out?”  
  
“Yes, I was terrified of that.”  
  
I remember something then, something I had long suppressed. “Um, you wanna hear something funny?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Okay, when you were recuperating, I called your doctor’s office and spoke with a nurse, and asked her if it was okay for me to give you head.”  
  
Brian laughs, his shoulders bouncing as he tries not to choke on his pizza. “Why?”  
  
“Because you were having trouble sexually, and I wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t hurt anything if I tried to suck you off.”  
  
“I’ll bet she tells all her nurse friends that story to this day,” Brian muses, “What did she tell you?”  
  
“Well, she said that as long as you wanted it, it was fine for me to do it, but to understand that you might not come as much as before or even at all. And then I said, ‘Will the sucking cause him pain in his new ball?’”  
  
Brian finds that hilarious, “And?”  
  
“She said no, that you just might have very little sensation in it.”  
  
Brian’s finding this very amusing, “So did you suck me off?”  
  
I nod, “I did.”  
  
“And what happened?” he asks eagerly.  
  
“You came really quickly, thanked me and fell asleep.”  
  
“That sounds highly probable.”  
  
“I examined your ball after you fell asleep to see if it looked okay. It just looked like a ball.”  
  
Brian smiles as he starts cleaning up the dinner we ate. He removes my ice pack and then kisses me on the forehead before adding, “I’ll be right back.”  
  
*************** **  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** When I make it back upstairs to our bedroom, Justin appears to be asleep in the sitting position I left him in, his head hanging forward. I’m not surprised; he’s basically wasted. I sit beside him, my arm around him and he snuggles closer to me; he rests his head against my chest and props his injured foot across my legs. I watch my favorite stock market talking heads, making mental notes of the industries surging and the ones that aren’t. His phone lights up; I look and see that it’s Harper calling; I ignore it and let it go to voicemail. He awakens after a solid half hour of sleep. I notice because he’s wiggling his toes. “It still hurts?” I ask him.  
  
“Not as bad, just an ache.”  
  
“Those pain pills help?”  
  
“Yeah, they take the edge off.”  
  
“Good. You wanna watch a movie or something? Anything you want,” I offer.  
  
Justin kisses my neck and hugs me a little tighter, “Will you fuck me?”  
  
“I’ve never heard of that movie….”  
  
“Iit stars me and you, and tonight, you’re also the director,” he informs me.  
  
“Top billing?” I ask him as I yank my shirt off.  
  
He nods, “Leading man, tons of nominations, but no awards.”  
  
Whew, he’s bitchy. When our clothes are off, we slide down into the sheets together and I clarify, “Is this an action movie--?”  
  
“It’s only an action movie if you want a stunt double.”  
  
“I definitely do all my own stunts,” I assure him.  
  
“Good,” Justin says as he plants purposeful kisses all over my chest. Then he pulls away from me, looks around the room, and yells, “QUIET ON THE SET!” I start laughing and he puts his fingers on my lips to silence me, and then whispers, “ _Action._ ”  
  
“I thought I was the director?”  
  
“I’m drunk, okay? Can we pleasssse just do this?”  
  
I’ve wanted this since the moment I opened my eyes this morning, so the fact that he’s bitchy and drunk matters absolutely zero to me. I worry that I need to hurry, that he’s going to fall asleep again, but Justin’s actively slowing me down and eventually admonishes me, “Stop. There’s no hurry.”  
  
“You’re gonna fall back asleep,” I point out.  
  
“So what if I do?” he retorts  
  
I slip my hand underneath him and palm his ass, and he moans way too loud which makes me smile. But as I’m settling on top of him, his mood changes to sad. “This fucking sucks,” he says with his head turned like he doesn’t want to look at me.  
  
I get defensive, “I’m taking my time, sticking with the tried-and-true here.”  
  
“Not that.”  
  
“Then what?” I ask genuinely confused.  
  
He’s despondent in his answer, “I can’t hold onto you; I can’t hook my feet.” I want to laugh, but I don’t because he’s not in a mood to goof around. “Okay, how about I tuck it between us?” I offer running my hand under his thigh. “It keeps it elevated.”  
  
“Then I have to look at it!”  
  
I put my hand on his face, “Will you just settle down and let me help you feel better?”  
  
“Okay, sorry. I know I’m being a twat.”  
  
“It’s okay; you’ve had a shitty day.”  
  
……  
  
……  
  
Soon, the intersection of our bodies and our breathing are the only sounds in the room. This is comfort sex for him which according to my calculations is maybe fifteen percent of our sex life right now. He’s sweet and responsive beneath me; he’s letting me fix this problem in this moment. Eventually, I have to let his leg go, and that leaves him spread wide underneath me. He doesn’t object in any way. His hands, onced clamped around my neck, start to move down my torso; he presses on my lower back and tells me he loves me.  
  
“I love you, too,” I say.  
  
“I’m sorry I don’t like to talk about it,” he says quietly, referencing our earlier conversation.  
  
“It’s okay. I just want to help you when you feel down; that’s all.”  
  
“This helps a lot,” he says and then he kisses me.  
  
“Good.” Not only do our bodies know these moves, our bed does, too. The sheets shift the same amount; the bed barely creaks; the sweat we generate cools almost immediately on the cotton sheets.  
  
His hands move even lower; he pushes on my ass and clenches my cock. “You wanna come?” I ask him.  
  
“ _No rush,_ ” he whispers.  
  
At this point in our lives, we could both phone this in, and an outsider lurking in the doorway might think that’s what’s happening right now, but they wouldn’t notice what I notice: he’s drunk from more than just wine and pain killers now; his lips are a dark pink, his eyes dilated. With a hefty nudge from those chemicals, he’s completely surrendered to this experience. His body is tired, but his soul is feeding off this connection we have; he’s healing.  
  
My mind’s infiltrated with a fantasy where I turn him over and spank him as he lays flat on the bed, unable to get up on his knees or get away because of his injury. Just thinking about it makes me pound him a little harder which elicits a delicious moan from Justin. I glide my hand over one side of his face; he presses his cheek into my palm, a sleepy smile on his face. “I know it’s not my place right now, but keep thinking about spanking you, about putting you on your belly and turning your bottom a deep pink.”  
  
“ _Fuck,_ ” he breathes, “I’m gonna come.”  
  
I thrust as hard as I can and feel him tighten around my dick as his release begins. I squeeze him in my arms, holding him still as I fuck him. His body twitches beneath mine. I confess as I come inside him, “I think I just stumbled on a new kink.”  
  
“Yeah?” he asks.  
  
I brush his hair off his forehead as I tell him, “Yeah...helpless boy.”  
  
*************** **  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
** As he says this to me, my mind wants to wake up and shake off this inebriated state, but I’m far too gone. _Damnit._ I want to fight to stay awake, to stay present, but the weight and pleasure of his satisfied body on top of mine is too much to fight. I want to talk about this because he’s not the only one with unspoken fantasies. “Brian?” I try. His warm skin encases mine, being loved like this is addictive.  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“Don’t fall asleep because I kind of need to pee again.”  
  
He plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek, his lips sliding to my ear, “Okay. Whatever you need.”  
  
……  
  
From my perch on our toilet, I empty my bladder and clean myself up. Brian’s leaning against the bathroom counter and starting his skin routine. I can’t really go anywhere until he’s done, and he’s triaging me while he applies his myriad of serums: Do I need another pain pill? Am I ready to go to bed? Am I hungry? Thirsty?  
  
I respond with my own version of triage, “Do you wanna go on vacation next month for your birthday?”  
  
 _Whoops. Why did I say the b-word?_  
  
He turns to me with floss strung between his fingers, “Excuse me?”  
  
“Somewhere on a beach and we could walk on warm sand and I could hold your hand for the entire time?”  
  
 _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I am fucking trashed._  
  
“I think you have alcohol poisoning,” he announces.  
  
“Well, if you don’t want to walk on a beach with me, you can just say so.”  
  
 _No, no, no. Do not go emo right now. Do not. Do. Not._  
  
Brian stops all personal care activities and just turns his very tall body sideways, crosses his arms, and leans his hip against the counter, “Might I remind you that you can’t even walk right now?”  
  
 _Okay, good point. He’s got a valid point. Think, Justin. Think…._  
  
“Well, we have time. It’s not like it’s tomorrow.”  
  
He inhales through his nose, “Can I spank you on this beach, too?”  
  
 _Okay, okay, okayokayokay. Unexpected. Recalibrate._  
  
I stare up at him from the toilet seat, “Would that make you happy?”  
  
He rolls his lips in and considers my question, “It would get me significantly close to happy.”  
  
“Then, okay. Deal.”  
  
Brian turns back to the mirror and restarts his routine and says, “Well, then happy fucking birthday to me.”  
  
 _Ohmygod. Did that just happen?_


	28. Negotiations 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/3/2019-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 29  
BRIAN’S POV**  
  
My body awakens at its usual time Thursday morning without the assistance of an alarm clock. Justin and I are far apart, and he’s mumbling in his sleep. I roll his direction, reach out to him, and I’m slapped away and soon realize that he’s having a nightmare. A bad one. One that has him clinging to his side of the bed. I freeze and just listen, trying to discern what’s going on, and that’s when I realize that he sounds distraught, like he’s crying or something. I inch towards him again, only this time, I’m ready to block any slap that comes my way. I hug him from behind, my arm clamping around him so he can’t thrash at me. “Justin, you’re having a nightmare. This isn’t real, whatever it is,” I try. He looks back over his shoulder, staring defiantly at me like he doesn’t know me. “It’s me...Brian. You’re okay. You’re just having a bad dream.”  
  
Half in our world and half in his dream world, he gets a very confused look on his face and starts to sob. I roll him onto his back, and try to calm him. I hold his hand on his chest and stroke his hair. “Shhhh, you’re okay. Calm down. It’s over.”  
  
Still, he stares at me like he has no clue what’s going on and then starts to hyperventilate. My voice gets more stern, “Justin, wake up. Stop crying and wake up. C’mon, you’re okay.”  
  
His eyes blink slowly, and I can feel him come back to me. He begins to respond to me in the present. “I need a tissue,” he meters out as he tries to even out his breathing. I pull the box from his nightstand, and he takes one. He sits up to blow his nose. I rub the small of his back as he pulls himself together. “Are you okay? What in the world was all that?” I ask.  
  
“I thought you were going to drown. They were closing the trap doors. I couldn’t just leave you there.”  
  
***************  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
_Brian and I live here in this long ago abandoned Home Depot store with at most one hundred other souls who’ve somehow survived the zombie apocalypse. I assume we’re surrounded by these beings because we cannot leave the warehouse. The only inventory left is palettes of plywood in various sizes. We live on the orange shelves, space we must negotiate for every day. This process rattles my nerves. I’ve worked hard to get the two of us caddy corner shelves on the second level. I suppose we could share one, but that’s not how it’s done here. One shelf per person.  
  
Brian’s shelf holds just his mattress; mine holds a mattress and a small dresser we share. We fuck (mostly on Brian’s shelf) as often as we can, but there’s little time for that because I have to remain vigilant the entire time to keep our shelves from being commandeered by someone else. Sometimes in the pitch dark of an early morning, we can actually relax and make love because there’s no one awake who could really challenge us. During those times, we try to forget our circumstances and just remember how to love each other.  
  
Our days are spent at the trap doors. I fought hard for the shelves we have because they face the back wall where the trap doors are located. Along the floor, there are eight stained wooden house doors that have a handle on them vs. a door knob. They are opened every morning revealing watery tombs. The water is somewhat murky, a faded blue-green hue that I associate with the time it represents, the mid 1970s. Brian’s one of the few with a job here, and this is where his work is done. He spends his days underwater.  
  
Each morning, I awaken and open his hinged door, resting it flat beside the cavern. I sit there from the moment Brian dives in to the moment he comes back up. He works an eight hour day, and while he’s down there, I guard his watery workspace. I make notes and sketch what I see…  
  
Every morning, Brian jumps fully clothed and feet first into the living room of the house he grew up in. Joan and Jack are down there, and as he begins his work, his body morphs into that of a little boy or sometimes even an infant. The furniture in the room floats just like the bodies do. A lit lamp hovers above an end table. There’s an incredible amount of arguing that goes nowhere. Couch cushions and an afghan are rarely anchored down and sometimes block my view, but I just wait until they float away. I’m very careful not to put my hand in water that is not my own. I see a random bottle of whiskey or extinguished cigarettes float by almost every day. Sometimes I hear a phone ringing and ringing and ringing. When Brian and his parents move to another room, they are out of my line of sight. In this dystopian world we’re stuck in, Brian’s job is to fix his childhood. It’s slow going, and neither of us have any idea what would happen if he succeeded at it. All we know is that this is our destiny now.  
  
Most days, the progress is minimal. Sometimes I lie on my stomach on the trap door and just watch him. I can feel Brian’s determination and frustration trapped in his childlike mind and body. I concentrate my mind and try to send him strength and love. I refuse to get off the door because I don’t trust the people here not to just close it and condemn him to that world forever. At the end of each day, my heart skips a beat when I see his pruney fingers emerge from the tomb, clinging to the edge. I jump up and somehow have the strength to pull him out. We close the heavy trap door together, leaving it for another day.  
  
I help him dry off and change his clothes. He’s always exhausted but appreciative. My anxiety refocuses on keeping the ‘rooms’ we’ve claimed as our own. The fear of losing everything never goes away.  
  
Today, for some unknown reason, they want to close the doors two hours early. I refuse to comply. I have no way to signal him to come back up. They think they can pull me off this door but they are wrong. Very, very wrong…._  
  
***************  
“That’s why you were clinging to the side of the bed,” Brian says, “That was the door.”  
  
“Yeah. It was so real. I was panicking.”  
  
“Tell me more about the fucking in the dream,” he requests as I’m bound up in him arms for safekeeping.  
  
“Most of it was missionary. We were always under the covers, shielding ourselves like we didn’t want people to know how intimate we were with one another. Felt like it would be a liability if anyone knew how close we were.”  
  
“And yet you waited on my open door every day. That should’ve been a hint,” he points out while distributing kisses all over my shoulder.  
  
“Dreams don’t always make sense. I had to work so hard to keep us safe in the dream, it wore me out, but keep doing that; it feels nice.” I can feel his breath on my neck and behind my ear.  
  
“I shouldn’t have let you drink that much wine with your pain pills. You were really fucked up last night.”  
  
“Oh, crap. I forgot I sprained my freaking ankle,” I tell him as I pull it out from under the covers and try to rotate my foot. The swelling’s gone down some but it looks horrible.  
  
“I’m staying home from work, remember? We can stay in this warm bed that we don’t have to fight anyone for anything and we can fuck any way we want.”  
  
“After that fucked up dream, I will never take our house or our bed for granted.”  
  
Brian maneuvers his body on top of mine and asks, “Do you have a secret fantasy about being fucked in a Home Depot?”  
  
I laugh, “Not that I’m aware of.”  
  
***************  
By ten thirty Thursday morning, Brian realizes that we’ve been stood up by our contractor. This puts him in a very shitty mood, so he gets on his phone and barks at his bouncers who are supposed to come get the canvases blocking our foyer and deliver them to Harper. One of them, Anthony, who I have stored in my phone as ‘IDIOT’ shows up with a newer guy I don’t know and greets me from my perch in our home theater, “J-man, what’d you do to yourself?”  
  
“I told you to stop calling me that.”  
  
“Sorry, Jason, what happened?”  
  
“I tripped yesterday, sprained the fuck out of my ankle.” I don’t even correct him about my actual name; I’d rather be called Jason than J-man anyday.  
  
“Been there, done that. You got the address for this girl’s house?”  
  
“I’m texting it to you now. I’ll let her know you’re on the way.”  
  
“All right, peace out. Hope you get better soon.”  
  
“Yeah, peace out, dude.” Brian descends the stairs as they’re leaving and tells me he got another contractor and that he’s going to make me lunch. “When’s the other guy coming?” I ask.  
  
“Now.”  
  
Spraining my ankle sucks, but I’m actually okay being pampered by Brian while we binge watch _American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace._ We’re one and half episodes in when the contractor shows up and Brian disappears outside. I’m next to a window in the theater room, and when I peek through the closed blinds, I see this guy and Brian talking up a storm. They clearly know each other; I can tell that from Brian’s body language. The guy rotates at one point, and I get a look at his face, and Jesus, he’s hot. Like Timothy Olyphant hot. My eyes shift from his face to Brian’s, back and forth, trying to figure out if Brian’s flirting with him or they’re friends or something. When I hear the front door open, I immediately turn around like I was doing something wrong by watching them. Brian’s smiling wide on his way back to me. “Don’t we have a wheelbarrow?” he asks me.  
  
This was not a question I was remotely expecting, “Uh, yeah. In the garage.”  
  
“I thought so.”  
  
“Why do you need a wheelbarrow?”  
  
“It’s not just that brick. The house has settled and basically destabilized that whole side of the stoop. I know we have some extra bricks around here. They were here when I bought the house.”  
  
“Yeah, in the garage. Do you know that guy or something?”  
  
“Yeah, after the first crew stood us up, I remembered that Rusty from Release owns Russell Construction. That’s Josh, who works for him. He’s also the guy at Release that makes a lot of their custom equipment. I just didn’t know he was going to be the one showing up.”  
  
“Oh, okay.”  
  
Brian’s eyebrow goes up, “Were you watching us?”  
  
I deflect, “You were taking forever, and I want to watch this show...with you.”  
  
“I’ll be back. I’m just gonna get the bricks he needs.”  
  
So while Brian heads down to the basement, I resume my stealthy game of peek-a-boo and watch Josh as he demos that side of our stoop and starts clearing the loose bricks. He’s probably in his mid-thirties. He’s a little shorter than Brian with hair a little lighter and he’s built very nicely. His biceps are inspiring. Brian comes around the corner wheeling a bunch of bricks and the two of them start chatting away again.  
  
This is getting annoying. Brian refuses to put the appropriate amount of respect and effort into binge watching, so I’m going to binge watch them instead…  
  
Brian lights a cigarette and offers Josh one, and he shakes his head no. Good for him. Brian leans against our house as he smokes, positioning himself so he can see me peering through the blinds. He thinks I don’t know that he can see me. They are talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Whatever it is, they are both very interested in it and on the same page. About five more minutes passes, and then the front door opens. I hear Brian say, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and then he’s right back in the theater staring at me. I try to steer the conversation immediately, “How much is this gonna cost us?”  
  
Brian shrugs, “A lot. That brick you tripped on was the canary in the coal mine, as they say.”  
  
“We’re providing the bricks though,” I protest.  
  
Brian ignores this and sits down beside me, his arm around my shoulder, “Would you like me to invite him in so you can meet him?”  
  
“No,” I lie, “I just want to watch this show with you.”  
  
He presses me, “Oh, because you seem _really_ interested in Josh.”  
  
“Well, he’s easy on the eyes, I guess.”  
  
“He’d like to meet you,” Brian says.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Brian turns sideways and starts toying with my hair and kissing my neck, “He’s heard stories. He knows your number, so to speak.”  
  
It takes me a second and then I realize he means, “My slave number?”  
  
“Yep, and everything that goes with it. You accidentally made a name - well, a number -- for yourself.” I’m ready to interrogate Brian about this when he presses himself against me and kisses me hard. His fingers are threaded through my hair and clenching the strands. Brian speaks into my ear, “See, here’s the thing: he asked me if I was going to punish you for not paying attention and hurting yourself on the steps. I said I hadn’t given it much thought, but that maybe I should. Maybe next time, you won’t be so careless.”  
  
“It was an accident,” I defend.  
  
“You weren’t paying attention and you had no business moving canvases that big without me.”  
  
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask as my mouth is gets bone dry and my heart rate speeds up. _Who gives a shit about Gianni Versace right now? Even if Ricky Martin is in his briefs the entire time…_  
  
“I told him I typically spank you when you misbehave. He said he’d like...to watch.”  
  
This is the moment two things re-dawn on me: one, that I am in only my dungeon clothes today, a white long sleeve t-shirt and gray pants, and, two, that Brian told Josh he’d be right back when he came in the house, so Josh must be waiting for an answer. I look in Brian’s eyes, and he seems to want this. But I have questions….  
  
“Is he a slave, too?” is my first question.  
  
Brian shakes his head and almost laughs, “Ah, no. He is not the submissive type.”  
  
“Is he married or single?”  
  
“Single. Very.”  
  
I keep probing, “And he’s gay, correct? Not bi?”  
  
Brian laughs, “He’s all the way gay, but don’t act like that’s a deal breaker with you.”  
  
“Is he younger than me?”  
  
“Yes, by a few years.”  
  
“You want me to say yes? You want this?”  
  
Brian leans back from me a little, grabs the remote and turns off the TV; his eyes narrow, “I like the idea of showing you off a little, letting it be known that you can behave, that you do know how, but ultimately, this is your decision.”  
  
“Can I meet him first? Just see if I get a good vibe from him?”  
  
Brian smiles, “Absolutely. Would you like me to ask him in?”  
  
I turn and peek through the blinds again. Josh is completely focused on fixing our steps; he’s kneeling on the ground doing ridiculously manly work stuff. “I mean, sure, I’ll meet him, but this isn’t me agreeing.”  
  
“Understood.”  
  
The minute I hear Brian open the front door, I’m watching as he looks down at Josh and explains the offer on the table. Josh nods, gets up and brushes his hands off on his jeans and then follows Brian inside.  
  
I have a second of pure panic at this moment because I can’t remember what I look like. _Did I take a shower this morning? Do I smell? Is my hair a disaster? Oh my god, why did I agree to this?_  
  
“Hi, Justin. I’m Josh.” His hand reaches out to me, and I slide mine in his and shake it. Brian makes up some bullshit about needing to make a phone call and disappears upstairs. He leaves me alone with this absurdly hot guy whose hand is rough but not blistered. He smells like expensive dirt and hard work. His eyes are bluer than mine. He’s wearing a teal polo shirt with _Russell Construction_ embroidered on it. Brian would not be caught dead in a shirt like that.  
  
Somehow I speak, “Um, hi. I’d get up but, well, you know.” I spread my arms out to encompass this little nest I’ve made for myself with my phone, laptop, sketch pad, remotes and a bottle of water. “I’m kind of stuck here.”  
  
Josh’s eyes leave my face and move to my ankle as he sits down beside me, “That looks very painful.”  
  
“It is. The doctor said it’s one of the worst sprains he’s ever seen. Over something dumb, like a rock. I mean, a brick. Well, you know what I mean.” _Is English my second language now? Jesus, pull it together._  
  
“Yeah, I completely understand. I’m sort of perpetually clumsy and end up wearing a cast way more often than I should.” There’s an awkward silence after he finishes his sentence during which I’m staring at the wall for some dumb reason, but Josh breaks the silence, his eyes staring right into mine, “So, here’s the thing: Brian said the two of you might play later on, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to watch. I have to finish the steps before I lose daylight, but after that, I’d be honored to observe.”  
  
“Do you do that a lot? Are you a voyeur?” I ask him.  
  
“I’d rather participate, but watching has its own appeal. Whatever rules you set are fine with me.” And then he leans in and jokes with me, “And if you say yes, there’s no charge for the steps.”  
  
“You must really like to watch,” I counter.  
  
“Or participate,” he emphasizes, and then he stands up and asks me if he can use our restroom. I point him in the right direction. When he finishes in there, he appears again in my doorway, “Brian can let me know regardless of what you decide.”  
  
I blurt out before I’ve conferred with Brian or even formed a thought, “It’s okay. You can join us.”  
  
He grins at me and claps his hands together in one loud clap that echoes in our foyer, exhales and says, “Sounds great. I’ll see you in awhile.” He’s the first gay man I’ve ever seen clap like that. That’s a purely heterosexual gesture seen mostly at sporting events.  
  
“Okay. Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Same here,” he says and then he’s back outside.  
  
Brian comes down a couple of minutes later and before he’s even sat down next to me, I tell him, “He seems nice. I said yes.”  
  
Brian looks very surprised, “Okay, good. Good. Should we go over some rules?”  
.  
“He said he’d watch but he’d rather participate.”  
  
Brian looks even more surprised, “Wow, okay. In what way?”  
  
“He didn’t say exactly. He just used the word 'participate' a lot.”  
  
Brian muses, “Well, this just got really interesting.”  
  
***************  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Justin’s decision surprises me, but I’m ready to roll with this. I impart some presumably new information to him, “Remember that night at Release?”  
  
“Of course,” he says. His body language changes; he pulls himself into a ball on the sofa with his arms clutching his knees. It’s not about protection or withdrawal though; he’s gathering energy like he’s some kind of supernatural creature. He freaks me out a little when conjures. I swear his ears get a little pointy sometimes.  
  
“Remember when you froze watching that guy on the platform get gang banged right in front us?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Josh designed and built that platform.” Justin’s eyes widen and he tries to hide this from me, but I work in advertising for god’s sake, I can read micro-expressions. “And, he taught that impact class I took.”  
  
He becomes a smart ass, “So this is going to be like a take home test for you where you can show off for your teacher?”  
  
“You think that’s cute, acting like that?”  
  
He dodges my question, “i want to take a shower; I need to get ready.”  
  
“You took a shower this morning.”  
  
He retaliates, “That was like a five second shower, Brian. I want to feel clean.”  
  
“Well, you can take one down here then.”  
  
He’s already crawling across the sofa to get to his crutches. He props himself up and asks me, “Will you please get my good shampoo and body wash for me and bring it down?”  
  
Watching him become this little diva in front of me because we’re going to have a threesome is very fascinating. “I’ll get your stuff.” He’s halfway to our downstairs bathroom by the time I’m hitting our staircase. He turns and yells, thinking I’m much further away, “AND CAN YOU BRING MY TOOTHBRUSH AND A HAIR DRYER? OH, AND MY DEODORANT, PLEASE?”  
  
“Yes. Jesus, I’m right here.”  
  
He’s startled, “Oh, oh, sorry. My bad.”  
  
_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_  
  
***************  
After I gather everything required by my crippled Little Prince, I take a detour down to the dungeon and grab a few things I might need. Then I go back into the theater and start rearranging our sectional for tonight’s festivities. The room’s painted a medium gray blue bordered by a navy blue sectional and then there a two love seats in the middle of the room that can be easily rotated. It’s _a lot_ of sofa. Justin and I can basically watch anything we want from a million different vantage points. I’m trying to set up a grouping where we can all be comfortable but also face each other. As I’m moving everything around, I can hear Justin singing in the shower.  
  
Yes, _singing._  
  
I finish my task, tap on the bathroom door and then let myself in. He’s sitting on the toilet applying deodorant. I duck out, get a chair from the kitchen, and return to him so he can sit in front of the mirror. “Thank you,” he says, “You read my mind.”  
  
“I’m kind of afraid to read your mind right now,” I joke.  
  
“Ha, ha,” he replies, and then when I tug at his towel, “Hey, don’t!”  
  
“Why? Are you hard? For Josh perhaps?” I manage to get it off, and I’m correct. He’s very aroused. I hang the towel up so he can’t put it back on and then I stand behind the chair facing the mirror, my fingers combing through his damp hair, “You’ll be punished for that, just so you know.”  
  
Justin’s equal parts embarrassed and defiant. “I can handle it.”  
  
“I like your confidence, but I hope you’ve wrapped your pretty little wet head around the fact that you are going into a scene where you will have absolutely zero control or say so.” (Now, all three of us know that that’s just a conceit, but it’s important to start managing Justin’s expectations in advance.) “That your safeword is the only thing that stops the scene, and you can use ‘yellow’ if you need to give us feedback or adjust something.”  
  
“I’m pretty good at this stuff,” he offers.  
  
I roll my eyes at his cavalier attitude and then dip my hand in the pocket of my jeans and pull out his diamond collar, “Oh, that reminds me. Put this on when you’re dry so nobody forgets who you really belong to.”  
  
“Okay, but one more thing.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Will you get me some underwear?”  
  
I laugh and shake my head, “No. You will have zero need for underwear tonight. I’m going to go check on Josh and see when he’ll be ready. Don’t go anywhere.”  
  
Josh is standing a few feet from the steps surveying his work when I step outside. “Luckily, we’re in for a few days of dry weather. It’ll give this fix time to set. What do you think?” he asks me.  
  
“Looks good to me. We should stay off it though?”  
  
Josh nods, “For a couple days. I think for the materials we had on hand, we’ve got a pretty good fix here. I’m happy if you are.”  
  
“I’m happy. Why don’t you come inside, have a beer, and you and I will discuss how we’re going to handle the second act tonight?” I offer.  
  
Josh smiles, “Let me put my tools up and I’ll be right there.”  
  
I go back to the hall bathroom where Justin is primping. His dungeon clothes are back on and his diamond collar is around his neck. He looks beautiful and a little nervous. I sit across from him and ask, “If there’s anything you want to rule out, now’s the time to do it, Sunhsine.”  
  
“I rule out you calling me that in front of him. That’s for sure.”  
  
I laugh, “I won’t. I promise. Do you want him to just watch or do you want more?”  
  
He gives me his answer cautiously, “I’m not opposed to him being more involved. I don’t think he should try to kiss me, though, or rim me. That’s too…”  
  
“Intimate?”  
  
“Yes. And I want a pain pill and a double shot of Johnny Walker like now. I want a good buzz.”  
  
“Yes, my dear. I shall go fetch what you require.”  
  
……  
  
My conversation with Josh in our formal front living room lays out what I think will happen and what might happen. I mention that Justin is not opposed to his participation (quite the opposite, apparently), but that he should respect his limits which I explain. Josh gets a wicked grin on his face, “Okay, no problem. What if I want to kiss you?”  
  
I am physically taken aback, and my reaction makes us both laugh, “I don’t think it’ll be that kind of scene.”  
  
Josh laughs, “I was kidding. I’ll just take my cues from you and from Justin. If I go too far--”  
  
“He’ll say ‘yellow’ if he needs to adjust something or his safeword ‘albatross” if he wants the scene to stop. Anything he wants or asks for, it’s up to me to decide if he gets it. Understand?”  
  
“Roger that.” He runs a couple of scenarios by me that involve more participation and less watching on his part, and I think Justin would like them. I tell him we’ll take it moment by moment, but I’m not opposed to his ideas. “Oh, and one more thing,” I tell him, Justin’s allowed to say ‘no’ within a scene and resist. He’ll use his safewords if he needs us to stop.”  
  
“So, he’s well trained?” Josh asks.  
  
“It’s taken years and thousands of dollars, and, to be frank, I don’t really think so,” I explain, “I suppose most of the fun is in trying to answer that question, though.”  
  
Josh bends over in laughter, “Brian, you crack me up. Hope we can have some fun tonight. I’m looking forward to it.” He needs some time to return customer phone calls as well as beg off an estimate he was supposed to do after our job. We agree that he’ll text me when he’s ready so I dim the lighting in the theater as it starts to get dark outside. I’m able to get Justin situated back on the sofa where he astutely notices that, “All my stuff is gone.”  
  
“Yep. You don’t need it, except your water bottle. It’s here. I went over everything with Josh; he understands your limits. He’s tying up some loose ends so we have a few minutes. How do you feel?”  
  
“Warm and a little squishy,” Justin says, leaning against me, his legs across my lap.  
  
“Do you want me to give an outline of the scene--?”  
  
He shakes his head, his fingers toying with my hair, “No. I don’t want to know. That’s half the fun.”  
  
“Okay. That’s fine with me, but I’m not going to pretend this is your first rodeo tonight. Just because we have company doesn’t mean there’s a learning curve.”  
  
Justin salutes me with a stupid grin on his face. I navigate so his back is leaning against my chest and kiss the crook of his neck; he purrs in response. We make out for a few minutes and share one more shot of whiskey. “Do I smell good?” he asks me.  
  
“You smell amazing, especially your hair,” I compliment him.  
  
“Vanilla and sandalwood,” he replies.  
  
It’s very easy to get mood-drunk with Justin when he’s eager this to submit; my attraction to him magnifies so quickly that I can feel a hum right underneath my skin. He’s warm, hard, and compliant and he feels a little sticky to me so I ask him, “Did you put some kind of oil on?”  
  
He grins and nods, “It was across the hall in the sauna, that stuff I used on you the other day.”  
  
Wow, he really wants this little adventure if he’s worried about how his bare skin looks. He stares up at me, reading my thoughts, his fingers tapping on my cheekbone, “Are you jealous?”  
  
“Maybe a little,” I confess, “But ultimately, that will be your problem instead of mine.”  
  
“God, I hope so,” he replies with a mischievous smile. Justin’s practically sitting in my lap now, unbuttoning my shirt a bit so he can slide his hand in over my pecs. He whispers into my ear, “I want you to get off on this. He’s hot and all, but don’t sacrifice your own pleasure for mine. Maybe forget it’s me? Maybe I’m just a number again….”  
  
“A hot little number at that.”  
  
“That night we went there, I was overwhelmed. I’m not anymore. I want you to enjoy yourself, especially if it’s at my expense. Don’t be afraid.”  
  
“You make me nervous when you get like this,” I admit, “Even when it’s just us.”  
  
“If something happens that I don’t feel perfect about, you can spend the rest of the night making it up to me, okay?”  
  
I give him a wary look and roll my eyes, “I’m supposed to be managing your expectations, not the other way around, young man.”  
  
Justin dares me, “Then manage them.”  
  
My phone beeps, and I look down, “He’s ready to start. You good?”  
  
“I’m great,” Justin says, “Thank you for this in advance.”  
  
“Here we go.”


	29. Negotiations 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/26/19-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 30  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
My heart is pounding inside my head. I can hear their voices, but I can’t make out the words. Before Brian left me, he kissed me and then put this black leather hood on my head. I’m alone in here in my darkness...just waiting. I heard them go down to the basement and return a few minutes later. Brian’s probably showing off our dungeon. I ponder this situation I’ve put myself in and then decide _fuck it_. I wanna have a little fun, and I think I’m on the right path. I can hear them coming closer, talking and laughing, and as they walk into the room, I can feel them next to me. I know Brian’s at my head because I can hear him breathing. Josh is at my feet. Brian puts his hand over mine on my chest and rubs it a little. “You okay so far?” he asks.  
  
“Yes,” and then I correct myself, “Yes, Sir.” He laughs a little, very low, “Good. I’m glad.”  
  
And then I listen as Brian explains what he has planned for me. “I need you to listen to me,” he begins.  
  
“Yes, Sir,” I reply, my eyes focusing on the black leather blocking their view.  
  
“We’ve spoken several times about the fact that you are only as useful as the pleasure you provide, haven’t we?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“I’ve made sure that our guest tonight knows that, too.” I swallow and nod. “Josh actually blew off the call he had after ours on my word that you wouldn’t let me down in that department. Do you understand me?”  
  
My mouth gets dry, “Yes, Sir. I understand.”  
  
“I want you to turn your attention to him now, and I’ll be paying very close attention to the hospitality you show to our guest.”  
  
“Okay. I understand.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
I feel hands on the bottom of my shirt and on the top of my pajama pants and in less than three seconds, my clothes are ripped off of me in opposite directions. I’m completely nude (except for my hood) in front of both of them, unable to see any reactions they have. Brian urges me to sit up a little and then leans me back against his chest very tightly. He’s not wearing a shirt, but I can feel his denim-clad leg to my right between me and the back of the sofa. It’s comforting even as Brian’s pressing his palm against my stomach to keep me in place. “Spread your legs, Justin,” he says, “We have company.”  
  
The shame of being used like this gives me a wicked rush. I want to be outside of myself so I can watch. My breath is turning into steam which is making me sweat inside this black leather hood. Josh is sitting next to my good foot, his hand running up and down the inside of my thigh. Brian speaks right into my ear, “Josh and I discussed it, and we both think you don’t deserve to be hard while you’re being punished. So, Josh’s going to take of this erection of yours.”  
  
“Okay,” I agree.  
  
“Better manners, Justin,” Brian warns me.  
  
“Thank you, Josh. Sir?”  
  
“Much better,” Brian tells me as he wraps his arms tightly around me so I can’t move. Josh’s hands are running up and down my thighs only now he’s wearing gloves or something; there are tiny pins or spikes in them, and each time they get close to my cock, I get chills and have to take a deep breath. “May I ask what that is?” I ask them because I can’t see anything. Josh says, “You can ask, but I’m not answering that question.”  
  
“Okay, sorry.”  
  
Josh’s spiked hand cups my balls and squeezes and I get that sick drop out feeling in my stomach, “You have a very nice cock, Justin. It just doesn’t know its place.” He strokes me, running those spikes over the head of my cock; I hold my breath and cringe invisibly. “Normally, I wouldn’t even start a scene with a sub who’s this aroused. I consider it very disrespectful.”  
  
“I’m sorry--” I start but Josh cuts me off, “You can either say ‘yes, sir’ or ‘thank you, sir’ to me. You aren’t sorry at all.”  
  
“Okay, I’m… thank you, sir.”  
  
“When we have company, I expect you to have better manners,” Brian growls into my ear. Sweat rolls down the back of my neck. I feel Brian’s hand roaming to my nipples. He pinches both of them hard at the exact same time eliciting a hiss out of me. Brian lets out a little laugh, and I then I feel something different running up the inside of my leg. Something harder than a hand but not that big, and then Josh swats me with it, and I know it’s a crop. I feel exposed and nervous after the third or fourth swat, and I steer my mind’s eye to an overhead shot of what my body must look like: hooded and spread out on back, my legs on either side of Josh. Brian fishes for my hands, and when he finds them, he covers them with his and plants them beside me. The message is clear: don’t try to interfere with this. This is being done _to_ you for a reason.  
  
After a couple of minutes have passed, I know that there are now red patches of skin on both of my thighs and all around my cock where it lays on my belly. The crop hits my nipple dead on, and I squawk in pain. Brian let’s go of my right hand and spits on his, wetting my nipple and toying with it in between every slap of the crop. He and Josh are determined to torment me. And then it changes.  
  
Josh has his hands under my knees, and he’s pushing my legs up and backwards where Brian takes over, “Put your hands under your knees,” he orders me and then he cuffs them there so I’m exposed and powerless in front of Josh. Brian’s hand slinks around me and wraps around my cock. No spikes on his hands. Josh asks, “Brian says that you can’t get through a spanking without an erection. Is that true?”  
  
“Yes. Sir.” _And I can promise you that he wants it that way…_  
  
“How does he spank you?”  
  
Answering this embarasses me, but I’m literally in no position to argue, “Usually across his lap. Sometimes he bends me over something.”  
  
“But you prefer being over his knee?”  
  
Brian’s stroking my cock as I answer these questions, “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Why?” Josh asks.  
  
I squirm in Brian’s arms and he admonishes me, “Stop that. Answer him.”  
  
I think about what I should say, but all the hot air circulating inside the hood is making it difficult to concoct anything but the truth, “When I’m across his lap, he focuses on all of me.”  
  
Josh continues, “Fair enough. How long has been spanking you?”  
  
I seriously did not know there was going to be an interview component to this scene tonight, but whatever, “A very long time, sir. Decades.” I am blushing under my fucking hood where no one can even see me. Sometimes I get on my own nerves.  
  
“Tell me more. I want the whole story.”  
  
 _Is this an episode of 60 Minutes or what? Brian must’ve told him that the last thing I ever want to do is talk about this kink I have. Or maybe Brian’s gotten so old, he’s forgotten, so he’s putting me through this just to remind himself._  
  
I sigh, “It started as a joke basically.”  
  
Brian does not like my tone, apparently. His hand moves up to my throat and clamps around it as he speaks, “Lose that attitude right now.”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” and then I cough dramatically just to get back at him. He couldn’t care less. “It started as a joke, and then after joking about it few more times, he realized that every time the subject comes up, I get embarrassingly aroused.”  
  
“Interesting. When I play with a sub who begins a scene with an erection like yours, I have other ways of dealing with that. Would you like to know what I do?”  
  
“Yes? Sir.”  
  
“Well, normally I make them run laps in the playroom, but that’s not an option in your case. So, we’ll skip to step two. I hear an unfamiliar sound, and then I feel Josh’s hand wrap around my balls. He has fucking _ice cubes_ in his hand. I try to move and get nowhere. It’s a revolting sensation, like climbing a roller coaster anticipating the big drop, going over the top and then the train just stops right there in mid-descent, leaving you lurching forward. “ _Fuck!_ ” I cry out. Josh removes his hand and drops one of the ice cubes on my stomach. “I never have to do that more than once,” Josh warns me, “With any slave. You’d be amazed how effective that is.”  
  
My breath is all over the place, “I understand. Sir.”  
  
“Do you think that little trick would help you when you don’t have permission to be aroused?” Josh asks.  
  
“I will find another way if I’m allowed,” I answer.  
  
“So you think you’re capable of being across Brian’s lap without an erection?”  
  
“I think so, maybe?” I offer.  
  
“Do you believe that Brian?” Josh asks him.  
  
Brian laughs, “No. No, I don’t, but I admire his hope. It’s inspiring.” _Thanks for the support, asshole._  
  
“Justin, maybe it would be nice to give Brian a break tonight from punishing you and let me do it. Then you can show him whether or not you can control yourself.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Okay, however, we still have this stubborn erection of yours to deal with. Now, because this little scene popped up unexpectedly, and you didn’t know my rules in advance, Brian and I are going to get a quick orgasm from you. Would you like that, Justin?”  
  
My heart starts beating faster, “Yes, please, sir.”  
  
“I figured you’d say that and I have this brand new set of one and a quarter inch anal beads that I found in your dungeon, so we’re going to start there.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I’m going to assume based on what I know about you, that you know exactly how big that is, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“There are four beads, and I’m going to multiply the amount of times I spank you by the number of beads you need to come with each bead representing five swats, so it’s in your best interest to come as soon as possible. Understand?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Brian releases me and lays me down flat on my back leaving me to literally look like a rare yet helpless beetle with ivory skin and a black head. He gets up and then sits back down perpendicular to me, my head lodged in the triangle of his bent leg. He’s nude now; I can feel his thigh against my shoulder. He goes back to stroking me in my humiliating position and tells me, “Let’s get this over with.”  
  
This whole proposition seems suspiciously generous of them, so I’m not sure I trust it, but I don’t reveal that, “Okay. Thank you, Sir.”  
  
An inch and a quarter sized bead doesn’t sound huge, but in circumference, it’s a challenge. Josh puts a hand on one of my thighs, and slips a wet gloved finger inside me. It’s unexpected, and I moan into my dark space. Brian speaks to him as he strokes me, “Another.” Josh puts another inside me and a ripple of pleasure rolls over my entire body. “He’s tight,” Josh says to him.  
  
“Always,” Brian replies, “Proceed.”  
  
Josh’s fingers pull out of me and he begins to slide the wet ball around my opening and then starts to push it inside me. They’ve positioned me perfectly to take this toy, and they both know it. That delicious stretch elicits a sound of pleasure from me, and Josh calls my ass ‘hungry’ as my body engulfs the first bead. I want to respond with my entire body, but I can’t; I’m trapped. The second bead is pushed inside me; it sets off a wickedly full sensation and even as restricted as I am, Brian can tell that this works for me; he strokes me a little faster, his thumb moving over the head of my cock. “You’re wet,” he says to me.  
  
“ _Please,_ ” I moan.  
  
Please what? Brian asks.  
  
“Please don’t stop.”  
  
The introduction of the third bead, just the feeling of Josh forcing it in, makes me start to tremble. It’s the same feeling I get when Brian fists me; the sensation that the pleasure in my body has no place to go but out of my cock. “Brian, please,” I say and he knows exactly what’s happening, but he fucks with me, stroking me too slowly. “I want to come,” I try again.  
  
“Do the last one,” Brian says to Josh.  
  
I hold my breath for the fourth ball, and as I expected, it’s too much. Brian’s large hand is cupping my balls, rolling them in his hand when I tell them, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”  
  
“Pull,” Brian says, and Josh complies and starts pulling on the string.  
  
 _Fuck fuck. Fuck._  
  
My orgasm has already started and they’re ruining it on purpose. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched while my cock is left alone to purge the evidence of my spoiled ecstasy. I groan in displeasure as Brian loosens my hood and yanks it off, all my time spent primping was clearly a waste. I take in a deep cool breath. My lungs fill as cum runs down my stomach. My damp hair sticks to my forehead. He uncuffs my hands, and I immediately roll on my side, my body curled into a ball. “He’s not happy,” Brian says as he plays with my slick hair.  
  
“I can see that,” Josh adds.  
  
Brian starts rubbing my arm, “Justin, what did I tell you when we started? That you are only as useful as the pleasure you _provide_.  
  
“I know. Sir.”  
  
“Do you need a minute to sulk?” he asks me.  
  
“No, Sir. I do not.”  
  
Josh’s hand comes up between my legs and he opens them, rolling me onto my back again. Brian hands him something, and then I watch as he slides two neoprene cock rings on me. The larger trapping my dick and balls together; the tiny one beneath the head of my cock. Brian’s hand’s wrapped around my face; he holds my head firmly, looks straight into my eyes and asks, “Are we going to have a problem?”  
  
“No, Sir.”  
  
“Good,” he says and he smiles at me and rubs my cheek.  
  
I decide I need a break; I’m dying from thirst after being inside that hood for so long, “Yellow. May I please have some water?”  
  
“Of course,” Brian says, pointing to Josh who’s foot is right beside my bottle on the floor. Josh hands it to me and then pulls a blanket off a nearby couch and covers me up.  
  
“I’m not cold,” I say right as Brian’s getting up to get water for them. He leaves me alone with Josh who informs me, “Anytime a scene ends or stops, a sub’s body temp will drop rapidly.”  
  
“Oh, right. Brian always covers me up, but I never thought about why.” I scan Josh’s body as we talk; he’s wearing only a pair of very expensive short black boxer briefs, a style I really like. Underwear matters to me; it says a lot about a guy. Body-wise, he would fit perfectly between Brian and me in a line up.  
  
“You doing okay?” he asks me.  
  
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I see the light go off in the kitchen, which means Brian will be back in here in seconds, but I take a risk anyway, “Can I see your cock?”  
  
Josh gives me a questionable look, “Sure, if Brian says it’s okay.”  
  
“If what’s okay?” Brian asks on his return, handing Josh a bottle and opening his own. He sits back down and props me against him, his hand underneath my blanket.  
  
I look up at Brian, “Can I see his cock, please?”  
  
Brian rolls his eyes but nods yes, so Josh peels his underwear down and his dick falls forward. It’s beautiful, hard and thick in a beautiful brown nest, cut, and it probably tastes delicious. Brian can read my mind, so I just say, “Please? Just for a minute?”  
  
He’s a little irked and he almost calls me Sunshine but catches himself, “Sun--, you’re pushing it, Justin.” I’m pretty sure Josh who’s fascinated by our back and forth thinks he said ‘son.’”  
  
“You said I’m only as valuable as the pleasure I give,” I remind him. “I want to be valuable, please.”  
  
“My own words biting me in my own ass,” Brian laments, but he’s just being dramatic. “Okay, break’s over, Justin,” Brian tells me, “You have thirty seconds.”  
  
I toss my blanket away and wave Josh closer. I wrap my hand around his cock, lick it from end to end and tease it with my tongue before taking all of it. “Christ,” Josh says as he pushes himself into my mouth.  
  
“Twenty seconds,” Brian announces as I start to suck. Josh won’t even touch me; he’s afraid of Brian, so I grab his hips and deepthroat him.  
  
“Ten seconds.”  
  
He doesn’t even taste like he’s been doing manual labor all day; his cock doesn’t taste blue collar to me. I can even smell his cologne. It’s nice.  
  
“Five seconds.”  
  
I start to count down in my head, a suck each second until I get to one as my mouth pulls away and his cock falls all wet and shiny. “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Anytime,” Josh says, stretching his face with his hand, trying to kill the sensation I brought him. “Well, that was unexpected.”  
  
“It was my pleasure,” I add as Brian has his hand wrapped around my chin firmly from behind; he’s had enough of my antics. That’s fine with me; I got what I wanted. Josh downs his water as Brian tells me to get on my hands and knees. On an ottoman a few feet from me I see our wooden paddle and a condom. The sane part of myself cannot believe that the submissive part of myself is actually agreeing to this but I am; I get into position as Brian rubs my back and asks me if this position hurts my ankle. “I literally forgot I have ankles.” I tell him, and both he and Josh start laughing.  
  
“Fair enough,” Brian says as he sits facing me now with my head between his legs, and I’m so glad to have him here. I kiss his thigh as he strokes my hair. This is a different kind of humiliation because I can see now. He looks down at me and speaks, “I love you like this.” I reach my arms up to touch him, to make contact with him anyway I can. His cock is hard and he rubs it against my hair and face, “Look how hard you’re making me.”  
  
 _God, please be proud of me._  
  
While Brian and I were interacting, Josh moved to another part of our couch, so he can face my side. My heart starts to rev up again. “Be a good boy and offer your bottom to him,” Brian commands as he presses my back into an arched position. I moan as Josh starts to rub my ass, lifting each cheek over and over, like he’s learning my body.  
  
“Justin, you were made for this,” Josh says. “I would show you off every minute I could if I was your Master.”  
  
“Thank you, sir. That makes me feel good.”  
  
Then he tells me, “You need to count out loud for me, and after every fifth strike, I want you to thank me and then thank Brian by worshipping his cock. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
I see Josh pick up the wooden paddle and feel Brian’s hands on my sides; he’s holding me in place again. Josh asks, “I’m assuming you’re very familiar with a wooden paddle?” while he runs the edge of it up the inside of my thighs.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
The first swat comes and it stings like crazy and I hold onto Brian, my arms tight around his hips. “Count, Justin,” Brian says, and I say, “One. Thank you.”  
  
“You thank me after five,” Josh reminds me.  
  
“One, sir.” Being paddled by a stranger is completely different and more painful that being paddled by Brian. Brian has a routine and he’s methodical about slowly increasing the force behind each impact. This, however, is not Josh’s style. He just goes for broke every time. There’s no pattern my mind can console itself with. The wood meets my skin again, “Two,” and I hold onto Brian more tightly. Josh rubs my red skin and puts his hand on my strangled cock to check me for arousal. “So far, so good, Justin,” he says.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
He begins again, and I’m appreciative of the last one because it means I get to please Brian, “ _Five._ Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Good,” Josh says, and then he grasps my hair and lifts up my face as Brian holds his cock out for me. I swallow it all, my eyes watering as I gag on it. Brian moans like crazy, petting my head even as Josh keeps it pushed down. Then Josh yanks my face up, and with spit rolling down my chin, Brian leans forward and kisses me. “I like to see you being obedient,” Brian says, “I knew you wouldn’t embarrass me.”  
  
“Anything for you, Sir.”  
  
In the absence of my mouth, I watch as he strokes himself. Josh orders me back down.  
  
I’m expecting the smack of the paddle again, but Josh teases me with a dildo, making me feel like it’s going to fill me, all slippery wet. I begin to beg when he starts to push it inside me, but it’s a trick and taken away. “You’re quite the slut,” he says, then he resumes spanking me again in intervals of five. He works my entire backside with his hand, lifting and stretching so the paddle hits every possible angle. I’m shoved down on Brian’s cock, both of them forcing my head down so the sounds of me gagging fill the room. Josh pushes the dildo all the way inside me, and it feels so, so good, but it’s immediately retracted and I begin to whine, “Please, please. I need it.” My strangled cock and balls feel like they’re no longer part of body and yet every other cell in my body is aroused. I’m proudly ashamed of just how badly I want this.  
  
The spanking begins again, and soon there’s no place left to swat that isn’t already on fire. Every time my face is pulled off Brian’s cock, I brace myself for the pain co-mingling with a delicious humiliation. After four rounds of five, I can’t feel my skin anymore; it’s just a hot numb surface. I’m starting to float away even as I beg to be fucked; Brian knows and moves further down to hold my face to his chest. He strokes my back and praises me while Josh fucks me. I can hear myself huffing out, _“Yes, yes, please, sir, harder, please.”_ He doesn’t know me or my body, so I’m just a vessel for the stimulation he requires. He calls me a fucking whore, and in this weird place we’re in, it makes me smile. Brian laughs a little at my reaction, stroking me, pelting me with affection, “A good boy shares his bottom. I’m very proud of you.” With Josh behind me and Brian underneath me, I feel encased like a caterpillar in a cocoon where warm silk is spun around and around me. My moans begin to echo in my personal little cave.  
  
Josh comes and then collapses on me, so we both collapse on Brian. Josh speaks into my shoulder blades, “Jesus, Justin, you’re a very nice fuck. I very much enjoyed that.”  
  
“I’m glad, sir. Thank you for correcting my behavior.”  
  
“Oh, we’re not done.” He pulls me up by my hair again, staying inside me as Brian lines up his cock up with my mouth. The use their combined forces to turn my mouth into the tunnel Brian needs. This is the moment when I feel like Brian is finally just taking what he wants with Josh’s help. I can tell by the rough sounds Brian makes that he loves the sloppy, dirty nature of this suck, and I love the reality of being used like this while being full from head to toe. When Brian comes, he arches his back forcing his cock down my throat; it chokes the shit of me, making me cough and spit when it’s over, and cum, even though it was released into my mouth, has splattered back out, it’s all over both of us. Brian wipes himself off with a huge smile on his face. I can only imagine the mess I look like right now.  
  
Josh pulls out of me, and Brian and I just lay there completely spent as he gets dressed. Brian keeps running his big hands up and down my back to my ass, “You were amazing, absolutely amazing.”  
  
“I’m glad you’re happy. I am, too.”  
  
Josh, now dressed, squats down so he’s eye level with my face and thanks me, says he wouldn’t normally just leave a sub at the end of a session, but this is a different scene. “Brian is very lucky,” he says to me admitting, “And I’m a little jealous.”  
  
“He is and you should be,” I reply, and Brian slaps my back in jest and tells me to stop being a smart ass. “I enjoyed it, Josh. Thank you for the experience.”  
  
“Much better,” Brian says.  
  
Josh is gone in short order; I listen as his truck pulls out of our driveway. Brian carefully removes the rings on my genitals. When the restriction is gone, the blood begins to race back between my legs. It aches, but I don’t even care. “I want you,” I tell him, and he encourages me to climb into his lap and straddle him. He’s still very hard which means he took a pill which doesn’t surprise me. He would never let himself appear anything but virile in front of someone else.  
  
“Does this hurt your ankle?” he asks me as I ride him, and I tell him that I’m fine. He gets rougher with me, urging me to pick up the pace. He keeps one hand on my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone, “You took a lot of abuse tonight for me.”  
  
“And I’d do it again,” I tell him.  
  
“It was so fucking hot seeing you like that. You blew my mind.”  
  
“I’ll do anything for you, Brian. I want to please you,” I rest my head on his shoulder, “And I like it when you let me.”  
  
***************  
Tonight is the last night I will allow Brian to carry me up or down our staircase. I made this clear to him on the ascent to our bedroom an hour ago. I’ve just awakened from a mandatory nap Brian made me take. My sleepy eyes scan our bedroom while my body is pressed against his thigh. He’s sitting up typing on his laptop. There’s a banana, some cheese and a Vitamin Water on my nightstand. It seems very far away.  
  
The typing stops, and I feel his hand on my head, “Hey.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“How’s your pain?” he asks me.  
  
I put my hand on my ass and rub my cheek, “I’m still mostly numb.”  
  
“Anything else bothering you?” he asks me.  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“Good,” he says, closing his laptop and laying it on the floor beside our bed. I caution him, “Don’t do that. You’ll step on it, remember?”  
  
“Yes, Mother.” He gets up and puts it on a table by the window. When he comes back to bed, he’s smiling at me as he slides down next to me, his head resting on his hand. He reaches for me as I come closer, my body lining up with his. He holds me against him and kisses me. “There’s something I need to ask you,” Brian says, a serious look on his face.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I texted Josh to see what I owe him for the repairs, and he told me they were on the house and that you knew that. Did you?”  
  
“Well, he said if I let him participate, the work was free, but I didn’t know if he was really serious.”  
  
“Okay, so just to be clear, you didn’t do that whole scene with us because of that?”  
  
“Um, no. I did it because I wanted to.”  
  
Brian finally looks relieved, “Okay, good. Because while I’ve seen your thrifty side and your submissive side many times, I have never seen them appear in concert.”  
  
“Shut up, stupid.” He is teasing me. “And, yes you have because I have given you plenty of blow job coupons over the years that could technically meet that standard.”  
  
He feigns certitude, “Ah, yes. You are correct. They have appeared in concert on a few occasions.”  
  
“I thought you were really upset with me, Brian. Fuck you.”  
  
He grabs me tightly, his hand on my ass as I’m smashed against him, “I _am_ going to fuck you.” He rolls on top of me and uses his size to get what he wants; he pushes inside me and then wraps his arms around me keeping me in a cage-like trap; I can barely move. “Listen to me,” he says.  
  
“I am.”  
  
“This is my fuck, not yours. Do not even try to come because I will not allow it.”  
  
He’s really worked up, almost agitated. I try to comfort him, “I won’t. I promise. I’ll want to, but I won’t.”  
  
“Good boy.”  
  
He smothers me with his dominance, holds me still as he does this _to_ me like he thinks I would ever argue against this. He’s in his own head space, pleasing himself. I can see the veins in his neck when he comes and then I watch them recede. I want to trace them with my fingers but I can’t do anything. Well...almost anything.  
  
Brian smiles down at me with a curious expression and asks, “Why are you grinning like that?” He feels between us to see if I somehow came without his knowledge.  
  
“You don’t notice something different?” I ask him, and he looks truly confused (and spent).  
  
He’s slightly breathless, “Notice what?” I squeeze my leg muscles around him and smile. He still doesn’t get it. “Please just tell me,” he replies.  
  
I relent out of pity, “Fine. I can hook my feet again!”  
  
He starts to laugh, slowly and then a lot before telling me, “I was starting to feel like an idiot.”  
  
“Do you need a mandatory nap now?” I ask him because he looks like does; I haven’t seen him this exhausted in bed in awhile.  
  
“Why am I so tired?” he asks before collapsing on top of me, smothering me again.  
  
I run my fingernails up and down his back and he moans because he likes it. “Adrenaline was flooding your bloodstream during that scene with Josh. That’s why you’re so tired.”  
  
“Thank you, Doogie Howser.”  
  
“Outdated references reveal your true age. Be careful with them.”  
  
Brian sighs, as if having to talk to me takes too much effort, “That was unnecessarily bitchy.”  
  
“You’re right. I apologize.”  
  
Brian reaches for something, “I’m forwarding something to your phone. I want you to read it and eat and drink something. I made you a snack.”  
  
“I see that. Thank you.” My phone buzzes, and it’s a text from Josh that Brian has forwarded to me:  
  
 _If you see fit to share with Justin, please do so.  
  
Justin, I had a very nice time with you. Like I said, this is the first time I’ve ever walked away from a sub mid-scene, so I just wanted to make sure you were okay. (I’m sure you are, lol). You met every expectation I had and more, so thank you. I trust you are refueling and resting now. Hope we cross paths again if it’s something you’d like. --Josh_  
  
Brian is cleaning up next to me and getting comfortable. “This was nice of him,” I say.  
  
“Yes, it was.”  
  
“And he respected you, too. He could’ve just texted me.”  
  
“No. He doesn’t have your phone number unless you gave it to him.”  
  
“I did not. I would never do that without your permission.”  
  
“Good,” Brian says, “Glad to hear that.”  
  
“So you were a little jealous?” I ask.  
  
Brian ducks my question, “I’m going to run a bath. I feel like we’re both covered in bodily fluids.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Eat what I gave you,” he orders me, so I nod and finish my snack. This is really expensive cheese that should clearly be consumed with expensive wine, and I didn’t buy this. Brian is patronizing an out-of-network deli. I want to ask about the cheese, but he won’t hear me over the running water. I google ‘expensive cheese’ and click on images to see if I can match it with something. No luck. It’s delicious, so I just focus on eating it. I’m about to peel the banana when Brian emerges from our bathroom, and before he can try to get to our bed to pick me up, I’m up and limping toward the bathroom. I shake my finger at him, “I told you: no more of that.”  
  
The water is hot the way I like it; I like to feel that sizzle on my skin, only it’s not until I go to sit down against Brian that I remember that I got paddled tonight, so the sting is vicious. “Fuck, I forgot,” I exclaim as I pop up a couple of inches out of the water.  
  
“You want me to fix it?” Brian asks, his foot on the cold water faucet.  
  
“Just a little, please. Shit.” The cold water runs for about half a minute and I’m able to take it, carefully sitting down. Brian wraps his arms around me, and I lean back and close my eyes, my face in his neck. We sit like this for a few minutes in virtual silence. Eventually, Brian lathers up a bar of soap and starts to wash me off. I confide in him, “If this moment lasted forever, I would be fine with that.”  
  
“So would I,” he says, his lips in my hair.  
  
“I want to tell you something,” I add as his hands gently roam my body, his touch is light anywhere pain touched me. Part of what’s on my mind is new information gleaned tonight, and some of it is something I’ve been wondering how to broach with him.  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
“I liked what I experienced tonight a lot--”  
  
“You’d do it again?” he interrupts.  
  
“Under the right circumstances, absolutely. I felt completely comfortable with both of you. It was hot. But you know what made it even better?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The fact that I knew you were running it, and that you really started using me selfishly. I could feel it and it sort of set me free to submit even more.”  
  
He kisses my neck, “Yeah?”  
  
“You were in top space or dom space; it’s called different things. Did you realize that?”  
  
“Hmm, maybe.”  
  
“How did that scene make you feel? Can you describe it?” I ask him.  
  
Brian stops washing me, squeezing a sponge full of water so it runs down my chest. “Let me try to go back there.” I turn sideways to see his face, and his eyes are closed, his head is relaxed on the back of the tub. I run my fingers up and down his neck and over his shoulder blade. He clasps my hand to still it. “I was very focused,” he starts, “Very focused on you--”  
  
“You put a hood on my head. You were confident; you knew what you were doing.”  
  
“I had virtually no doubt that I could make this work for you. I was very zoned in.”  
  
“You were focused on your _own_ pleasure and my safety, but you were _free_ , Brian. Freer than I’ve ever seen you...or felt you, honestly.”  
  
His eyes open and he studies my face, “Maybe because Josh was there, so I felt like between the two of us and knowing his style, that you would be okay, so I could let go a little?”  
  
“Maybe.” He might be onto something there. “But earlier when you fucked me and wouldn’t let me come, it happened again. I felt you take off.” I pause and then continue, “But it’s your experience, not mine, so I don’t want to put words in your mouth or ideas in your head. I want you to experience it in the way you want to.”  
  
“I’m kind of glad you tripped on the steps,” he admits, a sly smile on his face. Because I’m turned sideways, Brian realizes there are more places to wash, so he resumes his task. “I’ll think about it some more. Good talk.”  
  
It’s very hard to concentrate when he’s touching me like this, but this is the unexpected moment I need to continue a conversation we started in New York. I begin, “This feels amazing, by the way. No one bathes me like you do.”  
  
“Wow, so I’m better than, say, your mom?” he teases me.  
  
I remember a bath with Ethan once, but I’m not going to bring that up. I don’t want to drown. “Yes, you are, by far. Do you remember in New York after we had been to the blue room, and I mentioned how our life is getting smaller and smaller?”  
  
Brian ponders my question, “Um, I think I was fairly trashed that night?”  
  
“You were. I told you how I felt like our lives are getting smaller while everyone else’s is getting bigger. Everyone else is expanding their family and their lives--”  
  
“I blame Instagram for this conversation,” Brian says.  
  
“I’m not complaining; I’m just making an observation,” I continue.  
  
“Is this a test? Am I supposed to respond a certain way?”  
  
“No, not at all.” I decide just to push through because he’s going to get on the defensive, and I don’t want that. “I’m not explaining this very well. Let me try again.” Brian’s body is tense behind me; I’ve fucked this up. “Okay, just relax, okay? You’re misunderstanding me.”  
  
“Okay,” he exhales.  
  
“All I’m saying is that everyone we know is taking a new class or learning a language or adopting a pet or a kid--”  
  
“I am not able to relax,” Brian informs me.  
  
He frustrates me, “I let _two_ guys use and abuse me tonight at the same time and you were one of them, so I am ordering you to relax.”  
  
“Okay, relax. Relax. Relax.”  
  
Now, I’m irritated, “Just forget it, Brian.”  
  
……  
  
He relents, “No, tell me. I’m sorry. Please finish.”  
  
“No, forget it.”  
  
“You want a dog. Is that it?” he asks.  
  
“No, that is not it.” I play with the bubbles in the water in an attempt to keep myself calm.  
  
“Well, you don’t want a kid. I mean, we’ve talked about that adnausem.”  
  
“I don’t want a kid either.”  
  
Now Brian has turned this into a guessing game, “You want us to learn a new language together?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“A cat?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Some other weird animal? No birds. Please don’t say a bird.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“A new car?”  
  
“This is not a game to me, Brian.” I start making motions to get out of the tub, but he pulls me back in, telling me, “You are not getting out of this tub without telling me.”  
  
I decide to just go for it because this has just gone completely sideways. I turn and face him, “I want the two of us to entertain getting a slave for both of us to play with...as a couple.”  
  
Brian’s eyes get enormous, partly from relief, and he just stares at me and blinks a lot. I get up and get out of the tub. “Justin, wait,” he says, trying to follow me as quickly as he can. I grab my towel and go to the fireplace in our dark bedroom, turning it on and sitting on the rug in front of it with my towel wrapped around me. Brian comes out and it takes him a second to even find me. He sits down opposite me, his long legs stretched out, his body resting back on his hands. “I would like to hear more about this,” he says, “Please. I’m sorry I was a smart ass in there.”  
  
“I need a minute.” I have my bad ankle stretched out in front of me; I’m rubbing it to calm myself down.  
  
He can tell I’m pissed, “I understand. I do like the idea.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
…….  
  
There’s an awkward silence permeating the space between us. I’m getting hot from the flames, so I remove my towel. “Can I ask you something else?” I ask.  
  
“Of course, anything.”  
  
“Where did that cheese come from?”  
  
***************  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
I laugh at his question, “It came from a gift basket from a client at work. The girls took the wine and left me with the cheese.”  
  
“It was good.”  
  
“I’m glad you liked it.”  
  
He finally smiles at me which is a relief. I made a critical mistake in our bath tub: I forgot that he was still recovering from our scene. I’m pissed at myself for forgetting that. I was disrespectful to his state of mind. I’m not sure how to fix this.  
  
He’s beautiful in front of this fire; he has a yellow glow all around him. I start, “Can I get you anything? Something else to eat, drink, or something for pain?”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
I decide to just be honest with him, “I made a mistake. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, and I stopped--”  
  
“It’s okay,” he says, still fussing with his foot.  
  
“It’s not okay. I forgot for a minute that you’re in a vulnerable state. That was wrong.”  
  
He looks up at me like he’s searching my face to see if I’m being genuine with him. I hope he sees that I am. “You look terrified,” Justin says.  
  
“I am, okay? I fucked up. Please let me make it up to you.”  
  
Slowly, Justin moves closer to me, our bodies parallel as we sit up facing each other, his hip lines up just above my knee. I put my hand on his leg and slide it to his inner thigh. He leans towards me and we kiss. With our foreheads touching, I hold onto the back of his head, and try again, “Please tell me more about your idea.” He’s clearly very serious about it.  
  
We separate a little as he speaks, “Okay, you know how you putting me across your lap as a joke eventually evolved into what we have now?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What we’ve been doing, switching roles and then that scene we did tonight, it’s making something else evolve inside me.”  
  
“Interesting, keep talking.”  
  
Justin takes a deep breath before he speaks like his words need extra space, “Sometimes there are ways that I want to be dominant that don’t mesh with the way I am with you. I have an urge, but it’s not completely satisfied with what we do. And, please, don’t take that as a slight against you.”  
  
I smile at him, “I don’t take it that way at all. I think I understand what you mean.”  
  
“Really?” he asks, his head lifted.  
  
“Yes. Sometimes I have urges to do things that I don’t want to do to you specifically but I want you there when I’m doing them.”  
  
His blue eyes are fixated on my face, “ _Exactly._ ”  
  
“Can you tell me what you want that you’re not getting...more specifically?” I ask him trying to keep this conversation in a nice safe place.  
  
Justin’s eyes scan the room like he’s making sure no one but me will hear what he’s going to say. His hand’s on my thigh as he reveals, “I have different versions of this in my head, but in one of them, we sort of have...our own sex slave...in the dungeon….” His words veer off at the end like tiny clouds that are ready to dissolve; he stares at his hand.  
  
“Um, please don’t stop there. You have my full attention.”  
  
“Well, I mean he doesn’t live there. We just rent him once in awhile.” I smile at him, and he smiles back, clearly embarrassed by what he’s divulged. “And there’s a hierarchy, and I’m in the middle.”  
  
I try to get him to clarify, “You don’t mean physically in the middle, you mean--”  
  
“Situationally. Relationship-wise. He can only get to you through me.”  
  
This has become a fascinating conversation partly because of the subject and partly because of Justin’s affect; he’s uncomfortable talking about this. I find it ridiculously endearing, but I don’t show it. “Does he want to get to me?” I ask him.  
  
“Sure. He thinks an audience with you is the prize.”  
  
“What does he look like?” I inquire.  
  
“That’s where I’m stuck. We’d have to find somebody that we were both at least mildly attracted to. I guess there would be an interview situation or something.”  
  
“And maybe a test run?”  
  
He finally looks at me again, “Of course. This is a delicate thing. It’s tricky to find the perfect guy to do this.”  
  
“What do I do while you’re instructing him in the dungeon?”  
  
“You watch us on camera or you’re there. I don’t know exactly. What would you like to do if we did this?” he asks me, adding, “Wipe the slate clean of my idea. Start from scratch.”  
  
My mind is zooming with ideas; they are pinballing so fast I can hardly catch one. “I need some time to think. My mind is racing right now.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Justin admits, “I did sort of spring this on you.”  
  
“That’s okay, though. I’m glad you did.”  
  
“You seem receptive to it. Am I right?” he asks me.  
  
“You are very right.”  
  
He scoots closer to me again, our hips now only six inches from meeting which means my warm hand can touch him in a way that he clearly wants. I stroke him, and he moans, pushing my hand lower, his legs opening for me. I tease him with my finger, and he clearly likes it. He holds my wrist deep between his legs. We kiss and he puts both of his hands around my head, holding my face close to his, “I want you to fist me, okay?”  
  
This is unexpected, but not unwanted. “I’d be happy to.”  
  
“Thank you,” he says, and then he pulls away from me and lies down on his back, his knees bent and far apart. I lie down next to him, holding him close to me with one arm while I warm him up with the another.  
  
“You’re bottom is still wet,” I tell him as I finger him. Pleasure ripples through his body; I can feel it and see it.  
  
“Open me wide,” he says, moaning throughout the process; his eyes often closed as he enjoys the experience. Josh and I gave him a cruel version of this in our scene earlier when we ruined his orgasm. He wants it done the right way now. A few minutes from now, it will be agony to have to stop this and get the supplies we need.  
  
…...  
  
When I come back with a few towels, a long gove and sterile lube, he’s stroking himself and fucking my invisible hand with his eyes shut. I position one towel underneath him, pull on one glove and coat my hand with the lube. Justin has a medical kink about this that we never really acknowledge out loud, but I saw it earlier tonight when Josh used a glove with him. “Look at me,” I tell him, and he opens his eyes and smiles when he sees that I’m ready. He curses with pleasure when he feels the cold wet lube even though it warms as I stretch him. “Do you picture me in a white coat when we do this?” I ask him.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I figured you did. You ready to be a good boy for me?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
Just the full width of my four fingers inside him and the act of taking my knuckles starts his ascent, and I tease (torture) him by doing that over and over. “Are you gonna come for me?” I ask.  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Wait until I tell you, understand?”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” he says as his breath becomes shallow. He lifts his hips up a few inches to negotiate with the pleasure and pain flooding his system. He licks his lips over and over as if he’s nervously aroused.  
  
I push the rest of my slick hand inside him, and he stops breathing altogether, holding his hips in mid-air to dilute the impact. I press him down to ground him, to make this what he wants it to be. “This time you get to stay stuffed while you come. That’s what you want?”  
  
“Yes, fuck, _yes._ ”  
  
I curl my fingers inside him, and his hands are tearing at his hair from the over-stimulation. “Your bottom’s had a busy night, hasn’t it?” I ask him.  
  
“Yes, fuck, oh god--”  
  
“Work your cock,” I tell him.  
  
He pants as he answers, “I’ll come.”  
  
“I know. That’s what I want to see.”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Yes.” He pulls his knees back as he strokes himself; his expression conflicted because he wants to come but he doesn’t want it to be over. “Be a good boy and come for me. I want to feel it.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes, let it go. I’ve got you.”  
  
The pleasure he gets from this is different from other things we do together. It’s an almost primitive ecstasy that he cycles through when I have him on this cusp. The fight against it comes from a very raw place, and as he comes, the vulnerability it exposes is a little frightening at times--for both of us. Being allowed to see it is a gift that he gives me. He’s told me before that when he comes like this, he feels like there’s a fireworks show inside every pore of his body, some places more intense than others.  
  
His skin’s burning because of the fireplace although I don’t know that he even feels it. When it’s over, I clean him up and get him in our bed. I carry him and he doesn’t object, not for this. He lies on his pillow on his back, tears streaming down the sides of his face. I pull him close, his face against my chest and let this reaction happen, sometimes his body jerks or trembles in my arms. I tuck the covers behind him so he feels completely surrounded. “I think I did it right,” I joke quietly, “Because you liked that.”  
  
“You think?” he says, his breathing out of whack.  
  
“Do you need something for pain?” I ask.  
  
“Don’t think so.”  
  
“Watching you come like that gave me chills,” I tell him.  
  
“I feel like an animal sometimes; I don’t even feel human when it’s happening. All I know is that I love you beyond anything I can explain.”  
  
“I will look back on tonight as one of the coolest nights we’ve had together,” I confide in him.  
  
“So will I,” he whispers, his arm snaking around my waist.  
  
When I awake for work the next morning, it’s still dark outside and he’s not in our bed. I find him in his studio in jeans and a ratty t-shirt with a paintbrush in his hand. He smiles at me and offers to get me coffee. I shake my head, “I’ll get it. How long have you been up?”  
  
He glances at the clock on the wall, “Three hours?”  
  
 _Wow._  
  
Normally, I don’t nose around when he’s starting something new; he likes to keep these things to himself for awhile, but today, the canvas is flat on his big table covered in a cloudy blue green color so it’s easy to see. “Is that my water in the zombie apocalypse?” I ask him.  
  
“It was,” he says, “But it belongs to me now.”


	30. Negotiations 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/18/2019-Originally published
> 
> Note to readers: First, thanks so much for the kudos and comments! They fuel my muse. We are catching up to where I am with this story in real time, so prepare yourself that updates will take a bit longer once we hit Chapter 39-40.

**NEGOTIATIONS 31**  
**JUSTIN'S POV**

  
_I’m at a payphone trying to call home  
all of my change I spent on you_  
  
I get two calls from Brian on Friday; the first, happens around ten a.m., and I answer from my comfy spot on my futon in my studio with some of that killer cheese in my mouth. He says he’s calling just to check in, but I have to ask, “Um, why are you quasi-whispering?” as I swallow the rest of my snack.  
  
“I hate when you talk with your mouth full,” he chastises me.  
  
“I swallow, “Sorry.”  
  
“I’m at my desk and now that Hillary is here in the next office, I don’t know if she’s an eavesdropper.”  
  
“Anyone who works with you is too busy to eavesdrop. How’s your day going?”  
  
“It’s fucking nuts,” he says, his tone exasperated.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have stayed home yesterday, basically...but I’m so glad I did,” he admits.  
  
I get what he means, “Because it made last night happen?”  
  
“Yep. How’s your day going?”  
  
“Lots of painting and snacking, typical nose to the grindstone day for me.”  
  
Brian snort-laughs and then gets serious, back to his raspy voice, “Will you do something for me?”  
  
“Uh, sure. You want something special for dinner or something?”  
  
He laughs again, “No, I want you to jerk off for me.”  
  
“Like right now?” I ask.  
  
“No, like three weeks from now; I’m giving you a heads up--”  
  
“Ha, no pun intended.”  
  
“Yes, right now.”  
  
“Okay. I will,” I concede.  
  
“Good. Are you in your studio on that ancient futon?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Lie down.” I accidentally throw my paper cheese plate like a frisbee and it zooms across the room and lands beside the trash can while the actual cheese took a hard left and ended up under my sink. “Hurry up,” Brian nags me, “I don’t have all day.” (He’s such a romantic.)  
  
“I’m lying down.”  
  
“Are you hard?” he asks me.  
  
“Halfway.”  
  
“Okay, well, I can fix that. I want you to listen to me.”  
  
I unzip my jeans and slide my hand inside my briefs and touch myself. “I’m listening.”  
  
What spills out of Brian is less of a masturbation prompt and more of a confession; _this_ is why he's worried about eavesdroppers. I can picture what his face must look out, pained, tired - but in a good worn out way - as he speaks, “I cannot stop thinking about last night. I can’t stop thinking about you, about how fucking amazing you are when you give yourself over to me.”  
  
“Thanks,” I say. I’m smiling wide and getting harder by the second. “See what we can do when we trust each other?” My cock beads and I tease myself.  
  
“Will you come for me?” he requests, “Because you weren’t in our bed this morning, so you owe me something.”  
  
“Yes, but then I’m not gonna want to paint anymore. I’ll want to take a nap.”  
  
“You need to take a nap; you were up at the butt crack of dawn.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“Do it, Justin. I have less than five minutes before a meeting.”  
  
Brian encourages me as I focus; even on the phone, he reads me perfectly. My breathing and the sounds I make give everything away, but that’s okay because this morning it belongs to him anyway.  
  
…..  
  
“I love you, Brian. Hope your day gets better.”  
  
“It just did. See you tonight.”  
  
……  
  
Lying there on my trusted futon, a permanent fixture in my life for historical reasons including the fortuitous amount of inspiration baked into it that I refuse to part with, I decide to take a shower, grab my keys and set out to give Brian a surprise tonight.  
  
************  
_but that can't happen to us  
cause it's always been a matter of trust_  
  
Later, around three fifteen that afternoon, I’m standing in our laundry room when I hear the garage door go up. As I get to the kitchen door that leads into the garage, Brian’s exiting his car with an irritated look on his face. He wrestles to get his suit jacket and briefcase out. His hair is all over the place like he’s been running his hands through it and his tie is all wonky. “Hi! What’re you doing home so early?”  
  
He looks up at me as he approaches the few stairs into the house, “Delegated some stuff.”  
  
I lean forward to kiss him from my higher vantage point, and he complies. Within less than a minute, he’s making his way up the stairs to our bedroom, a tired step by step. I follow, wary of his mood. I wait on our bed, kneeling in my jeans as Brian sheds his work attire and pulls on a pair of jeans and one of his dozens of black fitted t-shirts. I put my hand on his shoulder when he sits down near me. “Are you okay? You seem out of sorts.”  
  
“I’m very out of sorts,” he confirms.  
  
“Something happen at work?”  
  
He shakes his head as he’s yet to really make eye contact with me, “No, other than the fact that I can’t concentrate on anything anymore except what you and I did last night.”  
  
I move closer to him, rub his back and eventually gingerly hug him from behind, my chin resting on his shoulder. “This is a bad thing?” I ask.  
  
“This is a frustrating thing,” he says as he finally turns his head to look at me. He holds one of my hands against his chest. “Let’s go out. I need to talk this out, and I can’t do it here.”  
  
“Okay, that’s fine. Where to?”  
  
His surprise will have to wait.  
  
********  
_oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader  
she is always right there when I need her_  
  
We end up at a bar located about two miles from our neighborhood called The Gaight. It’s owned by hetero neighbors of ours, a married couple, Seth and Mari Frontward. They bought the place before I ever moved back in with Brian and decided that in this wealthy nook of West Virginia, they wanted a bar that no one could really identify as a gay bar or a straight bar. It sort of just depends who shows up at any given time. So, they merged the two words, and named it The Gaight. In conservative West Virginia, it sits in a rare liberal pocket so lots of gay people get engaged here or hold receptions. Brian and I come here now and then. The decor looks like it came right out of _Crate & Barrel_, lots of neutral tones, arrows and antlers everywhere. Not real antlers, mind you, the kitschy kind people put on rabbits. We wave hello to Seth who’s tending bar when we come in, and Brian, with a firm grasp on my hand, pulls me to a hightop table in the corner. He sits with the view of the entire bar; I end up facing him and the window. A girl takes our order, and Brian gets irritated with me when I order a mushroom appetizer. “What?” I say, “I’m hungry.”  
  
“Okay, whatever,” he sighs.  
  
Brian’s finger runs up and down the condensation on his beer glass as I probe him, “So what do you need to talk about? What’s going on?”  
  
He’s clearly agitated, “I’m losing my mind. This morning, I drove past my exit for work. I can’t focus; I feel like I’m in a fog.”  
  
“Since last night you mean?” I clarify.  
  
He nods, “Yep.”  
  
I give a cursory glance over my shoulder to make sure that we’re as isolated as I think we are before I continue the conversation, “You’re freaking out a little because you feel like you’ve lost some control?”  
  
Brian raises his face and looks at me hard, “How do you do that? How the fuck do you figure things out so quickly?”  
  
I shrug, “I just know you and feeling out of control triggers you, for lack of a better word.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Brian disagrees.  
  
“When you had cancer, that monster you became. Remember him?”  
  
“Okay, fine. God, I hate that you know me this well.”  
  
“Duh, I’m your husband, Brian.”  
  
Brian’s voice goes down a decibel as he confides in me, “I _thought_ the feelings of losing control would come when I’m not in charge, like when we switch, but this is way worse; this is actively fucking with me.” I try to catch a mushroom before it falls on the floor and nearly topple off my stool. Brian catches me fast and gets me back on solid footing. “Jesus, don’t kill yourself,” he scolds me.  
  
“Whoops, thanks, sorry.” Brian waves at our waitress for another round. When they’re delivered, Brian watches as she walks away, making sure she’s out of ear shot, and then looks at me expectantly, like I better have an answer for what’s happening to him, but I just have more questions, “Can I ask you what you think is causing this? What happened last night that’s got you off balance? Are you unsettled because we brought Josh in or something?”  
  
Brian shakes his head. “No, that’s the crazy part. I think it happened _because_ he was there.” He takes a deep breath, “I’ll try to explain this as best I can.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“So, you were laying on my chest while he punished you. And for the first time, I felt a completely new sensation; I could feel every flinch when you were experiencing pain, every squeeze as you were clinging to me to get through it, but in a completely different way. I’ve never been on that side of the equation without being the one who’s inflicting the pain; I mean, without Josh or a third person, that side doesn’t even exist.”  
  
“Ah, so this was algebra when you’re used to basic math.”  
  
"Yeah, kind of."  
  
I correct him, "But _he_ didn't punish me, you did. He doesn't have that privilege or that right. That's all yours. He was just a vessel."  
  
"I could feel this wicked pleasure you were experiencing. You were physically grateful for it.”  
  
I interject, “Not just physically; it went way beyond that.”  
  
Brian smiles at me, a sweet, appreciative smile, and then reaches out and cups my face but only for a second, “See, this is why we can’t talk at home.”  
  
“Explain.”  
  
Brian leans in, his elbows on the table, his voice sweetened, “Because if we were at home right now, we’d already be fucking.”  
  
Our faces separate as I confirm, “Oh, yeah. True. But I’m glad you’re talking to me; I want to help you or distract you, whatever you want, and, I mean, being in public has never stopped you from fucking me before.”  
  
Brian laughs and nods his head, “Very true.”  
  
“So keep going, keep talking. I like it.”  
  
Brian inhales and closes his eyes for a few seconds like he’s summoning extra energy before he speaks, “Last night in the tub you said that I was flying, that you could feel it--”  
  
I smile at him, “You were. It was beautiful to feel you that free, and it really turns me on...a lot.”  
  
Brian reaches across the table and wraps a hand around my wrist, “Well, that’s very nice to hear, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t land this _mother fucking plane_.”  
  
His tone is so calm and so sincere that I laugh, a laugh that Brian does not appreciate. But that’s when I realize what’s wrong with him; it makes sense. It’s why he looks so utterly worn out. This has probably never happened to him before. I test my theory, “You’re still in the headspace, you mean?”  
  
“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy. I cannot get out of it.”  
  
“You’re not used to this. It’s top space, but it’s the remixed extended version. You get there from time to time, but never like last night. Last night you went much, much deeper.”  
  
His impatience can sometimes border on the adorable. “Okay, whatever you say, but that doesn’t fix it,” he argues.  
  
“Okay. But you’re home now; it’s the weekend. Why try to change it?”  
  
Brian’s eyes widen as if my question is misguided, “To know that I can. I can’t just _be_ like this.”  
  
“Well...maybe you just need to blow it out. Turn it up to eleven and leave it all on the field, you know?”  
  
Brian’s not impressed, “This is your solution?”  
  
“Well, ignoring it seems impossible for you, so it’s either that or I take over, and you come crashing out of this headspace into another one, and I don’t know if that’s really advisable.”  
  
“Huh,” Brian sort of grunts.  
  
“I think I can help you, though.”  
  
Brian has his fists stacked in front of him, his chin resting right there, “Help me, how?”  
  
I’m going to opt for door number three here: distraction. “Well, I have a surprise for you tonight. Something you’re really going to like.”  
  
He looks a little happier, “Really? What is it?”  
  
“Well, I’m not going to tell you.”  
  
“Can I guess,” he asks, “Like yes/no questions?”  
  
“Sure, why not,” I offer.  
  
“Okay,” Brian begins, “Is it something I’ve specifically asked for?”  
  
I pause and consider his question, “Not exactly. No.”  
  
“Okay, scratch that. Did you buy it today?”  
  
“Um, yes.”  
  
“Okay. Was it more or less than one hundred dollars?”  
  
“Less.”  
  
Brian begins rubbing his chin as if he’s some old wise man solving society’s problems. “Okay. Do you have it with you now?”  
  
I pause before I answer, “Yes.”  
  
“Give it to me,” he demands.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Why not? You have it with you, and I’ve had a shitty day. C’mon,” he protests.  
  
“It’s not something I can actually give you.”  
  
“Okay, okay…” he recaps excitedly, “So you bought it today for less than a hundred dollars...and you have it with you now...but you can’t give it to me…. Can I have it in the car?”  
  
None of these are really yes/no questions, but whatever, “I guess you could but no.”  
  
“Why not?” Brian inquires.  
  
“Because it wouldn’t be appreciated enough.”  
  
Brian’s eyebrows go way up, the corners of his mouth follow, “Okay. So, basically, you’re saying we should get out of here and go home and then I can have it?”  
  
Sometimes he’s like a five year old, “Pretty much.” Like next, he’s gonna ask me for money so he can go get a toy at the dollar store.  
  
Brian immediately waves our waitress over and settles up in cash. We’re in the car heading home in less than five minutes. We’re standing in our kitchen in ten minutes and Brian’s pointing to the floor, “Do you want to go up or down?”  
  
Considering his current headspace dilemma, I decide to take that out of the equation for now, “Up. To our room.”  
  
********  
_gonna use my arms  
gonna use my legs  
gonna use my style  
gonna use my sidestep  
gonna use my fingers  
gonna use my, my, my imagination_  
  
This walk up the stairs is completely different from the one a couple of hours ago; he’s got spring in his step this time. This makes me happy. Once we’re in our bedroom, he turns to me with concern on his face, “How’s your ankle? I didn’t even ask.”  
  
“It’s okay. It’s still weak, but the pain has gone down considerably.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Okay, I’m ready,” he announces with a clap of his hands in the center of our bedroom like he’s preparing to conduct a giant orchestra. “Give me my surprise.”  
  
“You’re going to have to find it.”  
  
“What? That’s not fair. I want it now,” he objects.  
  
“Start looking,” I instruct him.  
  
He looks around the room, gathering his thoughts, “Okay, you have it on you, but I couldn’t appreciate in the car….”  
  
“Correct.”  
  
He comes up to me, his hands dipping into the front pockets of my jeans. He comes up empty. He tries the back pockets. Nothing. Again, he ponders, “Okay, I get it.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yep, it’s up your butt.” I roll my eyes at him as he pulls me close and puts his hand inside my underwear. He quickly determines that he’s wrong. “Did you pierce something? Or get a tattoo?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Then what the fuck, Justin? Is it in your shoe?”  
  
I laugh at his frustration, “No.”  
  
“Open your mouth.”  
  
“Aaahhh.”  
  
“Damn it, I’m lost.”  
  
“Would you like me to show it to you now?”  
  
“Fuck, yes, I would like that.”  
  
I love his frustration sometimes, especially when I’m the one who can make it go away, “Okay, c’mere.”  
  
Brian looks confused and suspicious as he comes toward me. I drape my hands around his neck and kiss him, try to settle him down a little, get him in the mindset I want him in. The affection puzzles him, but he plays along as I move backwards step by step until I bump into our bed. “Okay, give me a little space.”  
  
I can’t help but wear an anxious grin as I slide my pants down, my underwear tangled up in them. When Brian sees what I’m giving him; his eyes expand into two huge dark orbs as he stands beside our bed. As if he’s in a trance, he stares at my face as he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out. He strokes himself slowly like he’s watching me on big screen or something. “Brian, you look like you’re in shock.”  
  
“I just...,” he starts, “I don’t know what to say.”  
  
Propped on my elbows, my legs open revealing my newly waxed skin, I wave him in. “Enjoy it. It’s all for you.”  
  
He approaches me with caution, lowers himself and runs his lips over my sensitive canvas, taking time and care to appreciate the hairless terrain. “I can’t believe you did this for me. How badly did it hurt?”  
  
“It’s not a walk in the park but it’s worth it just to see that look on your face.”  
  
“Was it a guy?” he asks as he runs his face up my cock.  
  
“No,” I lie, “Some older lady.”  
  
“Jesus Christ. This is beyond smooth.”  
  
“I wanted to give you something special after what you gave me last night.”  
  
“I mean, I don’t even know what to say,” Brian admits as he explores my lower body; my eyes bounce from his hands to his face and back again. His fingertips pass over a smooth spot right before his lips do. He loves my body on a whole new level now and I want to shout that around the world. He continues as he explores me, “This makes me want to do so many dirty things to you...over and over and over.”  
  
“Good. I’m so glad you like it.”  
  
He pushes my legs further apart, and I moan. Most of Brian’s body is on the bed now as he tastes me. I play with his hair, enjoy the soft strands in my fingers as I try to keep from wanting to come all over him. I can feel the connection between us begin to tighten like a trapeze wire; I can almost pluck it out of the air. “Oh my god. This is one of the happiest moments of my life,” Brian admits and then he stops and looks up at me as he finishes his thought, “This could make me become a terrorist.”  
  
I sit up a little, “Excuse me?”  
  
“Like the seventy-two virgin thing. Like I would be a terrorist if I thought I would end up in heaven in this exact moment.”  
  
I roll my eyes and laugh at him, lying back on the bed. I close them as Brian starts to investigate every inch of his present. Just feeling him between my legs puts me in this peaceful state where all is right with the world. “This feels so so good. Like it tickles and makes me hard at the same time. _Jesus Christ,_ I love this.”  
  
“I can tell,” Brian answers. And then I ask him, “Don’t shave this weekend, okay? I want to feel it like this.”  
  
“My little masochist,” Brian growls. He teases me now, his mouth gently sucking my balls, his fingertips running back and forth beneath them. He looks for evidence of what he suspects, “You bleached, too?”  
  
“For you.”  
  
Brian starts backing up, letting his body slide onto the floor as he maneuvers me to the edge of the bed. My feet start out on his shoulders, and when I try to move them, Brian holds me still and kisses every inch of me that’s _near_ an erogenous zone. He’s torturing me on purpose. I try to at least open my knees more, and he blocks that too. I try to move one leg straight up and that surprises him and I win—for the moment. Sort of.  
  
“Justin, you almost clocked me. Watch it.”  
  
“Sorry. You’re making me crazy, like seriously fucking crazy,” I defend.  
  
“I like seeing you desperate.”  
  
“Oh my god, just eat me, _please_.”  
  
Brian reprimands me for being hopelessly slutty as he pushes my legs back. I slide my hands under my knees to give him all the room he needs. He’s cautious at first, like maybe his tongue won’t like the way I taste...as if. But then he gets forceful, rimming me like this might be the last time he consumes me because this time it’s for keeps. He’ll devour and digest me until there’s nothing left.  
  
_Praise be._  
  
I’ve wanted this all day; this exact moment, having him completely focused on pleasing me; it’s maddening and peaceful all at once. A delirium begins to overcome me. I look at a clock beside our bed and realize I no longer believe in time. I worry about the intensity of my need and wonder if this will just be who I am from now on--desperate, demanding...clinically horny? My moaning sounds maniacal (at least to me) as time passes. And then Brian stands up and pushes me back toward the center of our bed as he works his jeans to the floor. We stare at each other as he yanks his shirt off and then clobbers me with ecstasy. His hands zoom underneath my shirt and make it disappear over my head, the material skimming down my arms like they’re greased with oil. “Feel how badly I want you?” he asks.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well, multiply by about a thousand,” he says, pushing inside me. He fucks me and fucks me and I just hang on as the storm that he’s become engulfs me. I get hit with wave after wave of pleasure, keeping me underwater so long I can no longer breathe and no longer care.  
  
I no longer need oxygen. I need _this._  
  
But then Brian stops, prompting me, “Oh god, please don’t stop. Brian...please.”  
  
He looks down at me, resting his forehead on mine as he speaks, his eyebrows raised, “You know what this reminds me of?”  
  
“Really good sex?” I try, stating the obvious and trying not to sound irritated.  
  
It doesn’t work, and Brian laughs at my impatience, “Like our honeymoon, like really being inside you for the first time.”  
  
“Aw, that’s so sweet.” That’s a powerful memory for me and yet something I haven’t thought about in a really long time. I reach up and tilt Brian’s his head down so I can kiss him. I feel my body go weak as the emotions I feel for him get stronger. He slides his hand between us and strokes me, happy when I moan. I forgive his pause; this is worth it. Plus, he doesn’t care about my time table. He’s transferred himself to a different dimension. This dimension is also well known for its stellar fornication, so I’m not going to protest this transfer. “Slow down if you want,” I offer. “It just means that I get to watch you be pleasurably discombobulated for even longer.”  
  
He smiles, “You do realize that there are words that should not be uttered during sex, don’t you?”  
  
“I don’t think I have that gene,” I admit.  
  
“Oh, you definitely do not. But you are right, this is a bit discombobulating.”  
  
I bounce my eyebrows, “Explain.”  
  
“Well, it’s like sensory overload, like I’m even more inside you or something. Like there’s literally nothing between us.”  
  
“There isn’t,” I concur. “Well, except that I lied. It wasn’t an old lady.”  
  
Brian laughs a little, his hand on my forehead, “Good. I’d rather it was somebody who understood exactly what he was doing.”  
  
“He was an old queen, like way too tan and way too flamboyant. He called me ‘sweetie’ through the whole thing. He sort of reminded me of Barry Manilow. He was from another time.”  
  
“Very stereotypical then?”  
  
“Yes, and I told him it was my first time, and he was all excited to explain everything to me, and he talked the entire time—“  
  
“To keep you distracted from the pain—“  
  
“Right, so he sees the ring on my finger and asks me how long I’ve been married and I told him and he stopped and said, ‘Sweetie, how old are you?’” Brian grins and starts nodding his head. “So I told him, and he said, ‘Honey, I hope this man of yours knows what a jewel he’s found in you. You barely look twenty-nine.’”  
  
“What did you say?” Brian asks.  
  
“I said, ‘He does. That’s why I’m doing this. It’s for him,’ and he goes, ‘Then let’s do it up right. We never get committed guys in here. Most of my customers are guys who want to pretend they can pass for a twink - and trust me - they can’t. I’m good, but I’m not a miracle worker.’”  
  
“He did a good job.”  
  
I want to get back to _why_ I did this because it’s important to me that Brian understands. “You let me fly last night,” I remind him, tucking his falling hair behind his ear. “I was free to be myself and you trusted me completely. I trusted you completely. I can’t even describe how much I love you for that.”  
  
Brian kisses me, a sweet, appreciative kiss, “This is gonna sound corny, but I felt honored to take you there.”  
  
“It’s not corny. It’s the product of what we’ve built together. We were in exact alignment so we moved forward.”  
  
“Will you ride me for a bit so I can see my present?”  
  
“Of course, I would be honored to mount your esteemed phallus.”  
  
“Jesus Christ. It’s like I’m fucking the world’s hottest dictionary.”  
  
********  
_cause I gonna make you see  
there's nobody else here  
no one like me  
I'm special, so special  
I gotta have some of your attention give it to me_  
  
We change positions, and Brian wraps his hands around the top of my legs, his thumbs rubbing my bare skin; he watches me with an expression of intense delight. Sometimes he strokes me, sends me signals to speed up or slow down. I want nothing more than to please him, to satisfy him, to show him how much I love him. When I lean down to kiss him, he grabs me and flips both of us. We make love so intensely that I don’t even think there’s anything underneath us. I can’t feel the sheets; I can only feel him. Brian has this tuning fork ability he uses to get our bodies in sync. I used to be so overwhelmed by it when I was younger; it would put me under a spell after we’d fuck. He’d be in the kitchen downing a huge bottle of water or rolling a joint, and I’d still be lying in bed wondering when it would stop hovering like a magic carpet. And back then, those fucks were always about proving to me that he could satisfy me anytime, anywhere, and any way I wanted (and the guy after me.) He was always reinforcing his prowess like somehow I’d forget whose bed I’d stumbled into. But now, well, it’s not about that anymore. I mean, on the surface, sure, he can still be that guy, but proving that to me is no longer why we fuck.  
  
…...  
  
Now we fuck for the pleasure-filled fuel we need to lay bare the inventory of our hearts.  
  
And the more enriched and complicated our intimate life has gotten, the longer we leave our inventory out in this private marketplace. And now we have many ways of getting here; there’s no longer only one well trodden road. New paths emerge almost everyday.  
  
“ _My bare boy,_ ” Brian whispers into my hair, “ _Thank you for this._ ”  
  
I urge Brian to lift his head so I can look at him and tell him, “There’s literally nothing I won’t do for you. Nothing. Anything you or your big beautiful cock wants is yours.”  
  
Brian smiles at me, traces my cheekbone with his finger, “You are the sweetest boy in the world.” Sometimes his smile in my direction is as satisfying as having him inside me. My entire body hums with joy.  
  
“I want to tell you something,” I divulge when Brian’s lips are behind my ear. He whispers his answer, “ _Go ahead._ ” I rub his upper back as I talk, “It’s important to me that you _feel_ how much I love you--”  
  
“I do.”  
  
I press my palm against his chest, “No, I don’t mean just in your heart. I mean I want you to feel it in every centimeter of your skin. I want every pore on your body to be bursting with love…”  
  
He teases me, “You want to max me out like a credit card with a ten percent cash back reward?”  
  
“Fuck, yeah,” I agree, “Maybe higher. Maybe twenty percent.”  
  
“Now you’re just playing with fire, Sunshine. Reel it in.”  
  
“Tell me that you feel it, that every inch of you feels it.”  
  
“Justin, I can’t stop feeling it. Let me return the favor.” And then he kisses me and part of it is to shut me up, but I don’t care. My connection to him has upgraded again to some kind of emotional ethernet, a signal so strong I trust it implicitly.  
  
Our fucking resumes with Brian encouraging me, pushing on my thighs, “Stay tight; cling to me.” He nudges my feet below his ass, and in the process of our readjustment, my toes slide between his cheeks. He stops moving and looks at me.  
  
I look at him.  
  
We look at each other.  
  
I take stock of our diagonal position on our bed, of how far each of us can reach before I make the offer, “If you can reach my drawer, I can do this for you.” Brian thinks for a few seconds and then he goes for it, his first reach bringing me lube, his second the slim black plug that I probably haven’t used in years. “I’ll go slow; I’ll do whatever you want,” I tell him. He considers what he wants without looking right at me, his body raised and propped at a slightly upward angle, a triangle formed by our upper bodies. I stroke his face with my hand trying to impart a generosity of patience. After nearly half a minute, Brian looks down at me and discloses, “I’m afraid I’ll come like instantly.”  
  
I nod, “Okay, just pull out for a minute.” He does so in a resigned fashion which makes me laugh a little; we lie on our sides facing one another; Brian props his leg over mine. I slick my fingers for him, making sure they’re a comfortable temperature before I open him up. He buries his face against my shoulder accepting the pleasurable intrusion. I keep one hand around his shoulders, holding him against me. “Stop me if I get you too close,” I tell him.  
  
He hugs me tightly, “I will.” The only sounds I hear in this intimate space are my breathing and Brian’s low moans. The bass in his voice reverberates against my upper body as my ministrations are intentionally slow and deliberate. Soon his hips start to move in concert with my hand and he whispers into my neck, “ _Do it now._ ”  
  
I replace my fingers with the plug very slowly as I don’t want to accelerate his time table. As soon as I’m done, his dominance returns; he rolls me onto my back again, his cock disappearing inside me. I study his face during the transition to make sure he has the control he wants, and when he’s ready, he squeezes my thighs around him. I cling to him like he wants, one foot crossed over the other positioned at the base of the plug.  
  
“I don’t want this to be over,” Brian admits.  
  
“I want to max out my card,” I counter, “It’s all I’ve wanted all day.”  
  
His hips begin to move, building a tentative yet methodic rhythm. I gauge his physical desire and purposely stay a few seconds behind because I want him to want this. I feel like we’re walking a tightrope now, both together and apart at the same time. Beads of sweat form on Brian’s forehead soaking his hair. It’s a gloriously laborious fuck. Carefully, I press on his plug, holding it a little deeper inside him. Brian bites my earlobe, his voice encumbered by his heavy breathing, “ _Fuck. Jesus...fuck._ ”  
  
I try to comfort him, “ _Just enjoy it. Forget the rest._ ”  
  
There’s a palpable level of distress in Brian’s voice, “Are you close? I can’t tell like this.”  
  
I offer some levity, “Your wires are crossed.”  
  
He exhales on top of me, “But it feels _soooo_ good.”  
  
“I’m beyond close,” I reassure him, “I’m waiting for you to get to the top of this mountain.”  
  
“Yeah?” he asks. He sounds a little nervous.  
  
I’m not nervous at all. I’m confident. “Yes, and I’m kind of tired of waiting. Come and get me.”  
  
…..  
  
I almost suffocate during the turbulent rescue, trapped underneath Brian when he orgasms, feeling myself shoot and then ooze between us. He almost tries to reject the pleasure he’s experiencing, but I clamp my body around his and keep everything where I want it. He pants on top of me and tries to form words, a task he immediately fails. He keeps trying, and I finally understand what he’s saying, “I can’t see. I think I went blind.”  
  
“You’re not blind,” I assure him.  
  
“Then I’m dying because I’m going toward a light.”  
  
“You’re not dying. That light you see is me.”  
  
Brian sighs, his head dead weight, his face pressed into my neck, “Oh my god, you’re right. That light…. It’s fucking sunshine.”


	31. Negotiations 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12/31/19-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 32  
BRIAN'S POV**  
  
A day like today, one that started without Justin in my bed, continued with me driving past my exit due to preoccupation and has just culminated with a sexual experience that registered somewhere on the Richter scale, is one of those days where I wonder why the hell I spent years convinced that marriage is a death trap. Because it’s definitely not. Well, not this marriage. This marriage exceeds my expectations over and over and over. This marriage should win one of those awards they always give to cars--year after year. I think it’s fair to say that being the crash test dummy I was when this relationship began, we’ve more than earned it.  
  
Our post-fuck shower has now dwindled our soap supply significantly. Justin barely dries himself off and relocates to our bed in his pale gray (mint green) fluffy terry cloth robe which is wide open. We argue regularly about the color. (It’s mint green.) Also mint green are the products he got at that salon to care for his new and apparently very expensive skin condition. There’s a folded piece of paper on the floor that was meant for the trash can. It’s instructions that specifically advise no sex for forty-eight hours afterwards.  
  
_Whoops._  
  
Lying there on his back, all hot, blond and bare, I can’t help but marvel at him and at my own good fortune in securing his affection for a lifetime. Darkness has methodically conquered our room over the last hour, and yet, even in the shadows, his body glistens a little, one leg bent and one straight, his hair still damp as he scrolls through his phone. Something’s different about him. I watch him from the doorway of our bathroom trying to figure out what it is. He’s texting; his attention is elsewhere buying me some time to think...  
  
_What is it?_  
  
And then it comes into focus for me, a picture developing in my mind like an old instamatic: he looks completely satisfied and entitled to that satisfaction. He’s satiated, more man than boy, no roles or agendas in play at the moment. And while he undertook a significant and successful effort to impart to me how much he loves me during our earlier carnal activities, it’s what he does when I join him on our bed that drives the point home with the force and accuracy of a staple gun.  
  
He offers me one of my cigarettes procured from the pocket of his (not gray) robe-shiny silver case and all.  
  
I shake my head, “Thanks, but don’t want to go outside right now.”  
  
“Smoke it here,” he says.  
  
I’m doubtful that I heard him correctly, “Here?”  
  
“Yep. Just one.” Suspicious but unable to resist, I light one up only to have it plucked from my fingers. “This one’s mine,” he declares.  
  
_Did I miss the reminder? Is this opposite night?_  
  
Regardless, I light another for myself, lie back on my pillow and ask, “Did we cross into another dimension that I’m unaware of?”  
  
“Possibly,” Justin counters, “Considering you came like you were being hunted by a pack of rabid werewolves.” In the minute of quiet that’s necessary to appreciate the smoke, I think about the plug that I abandoned in the shower, how something that small blew cobwebs out of my ears as he continues, “I like that you let me do that for you; you surrendered yourself during that fuck like it was intermission or something.”  
  
I laugh, “Intermission. Funny yet accurate.” He turns and smiles at me.  
  
The silence returns as we puff, and I try to shake the guilt that I feel about enjoyIng this ritual, even with his permission, even when he’s doing it with me. My mind begins to unroll like a carpet, all my thoughts finding, organizing and presenting themselves for the spotlight.  
  
…...  
  
Justin rolls on his side to face me as he offers me his cigarette to extinguish and asks, “So how’s your head space, what we were talking about at the bar?”  
  
My cigarette dies as well, so I turn to face him with more than a foot of space between us. I think about this for a minute, try to get back inside that moment, “You know, another cigarette would really help me explain this.”  
  
“Nice try,” he says, giving me a little kick with his foot.  
  
“Well, in my defense, my headspace kind of got blown to smithereens an hour ago—“  
  
“Well, that was just a happy coincidence because of what I had planned for you,” Justin confirms. “You do seem to be better though, and that’s all that matters.”  
  
He means it. He’s not baiting me or attempting reverse psychology. But I do want to explain it--for my sake and his--if I can figure out how, so I try, “I think last night opened a door in my brain that I never really paid attention to before. When I drove past my exit this morning, I was so fucking pissed. I pulled off the highway and into an empty restaurant parking lot and just cut the engine.”  
  
“And then what?” he asks.  
  
I sigh because how this is in my head may not be the way it comes out of my mouth, “I was basically having this intense sexual fantasy; I mean I was hard and my heart was racing—“  
  
“Did you jerk off?” I can’t tell by the way he poses the question which answer he wants.  
  
“No. I wouldn’t let myself,” I admit.  
  
Justin’s body language changes. He moves a little closer to me while still keeping some distance. His palm’s spread wide on the comforter; his fingers flex as he speaks like they’re somehow connected to his vocal chords. My troubles have turned him into a pensive cat that also somehow pities me in this moment. “Why not?” he inquires.  
  
“I’m not really sure. Maybe if I had done it, my day wouldn’t have gone to shit?”  
  
“Maybe,” he concedes, “But something stopped you. What was it?”  
  
“This is uncensored material,” I warn him.  
  
“I don’t care about that. You can tell me anything as long as it does not involve women, children or animals.”  
  
He makes me laugh, “Okay. It was sort of a repeat of last night but on steroids. It was more well attended, and the odds were very against you so to speak.”  
  
“This was non-consensual on my part?” he asks.  
  
I shake my head, “God, no. Quite the opposite but you were doing it for me and at my behest…..” My stomach makes a loop because I’m not completely comfortable talking about this. I get that annoying sensation when you trip or fall in a dream and it wakes you up.  
  
“I’m a big fan of your behest,” Justin tells me as he turns to look right at me with blue eyes that he’s taught to sparkle, “And generally speaking, the bigger the behest, the better.”  
  
“Oh, I know. It’s highly possible that you fell in love with my behest before you fell in love with me.”  
  
He sighs and moves a little closer to me, his fingertips tap dancing on my chest, “Well, you made sure I knew that part of you inside and out back then, and, regardless, I love all of you now.”  
  
“Yes, you very clearly do,” I agree as he leans in and kisses my shoulder. His hand skims down my stomach and as it attempts to reverse course, I stop it. I want his hand between my legs. He gives me a devilish smile before pressing his lips into my neck. His voice is soft and sweet and barely above a whisper, _“When Josh was fucking me last night, It was all about you.“_ I can’t explain it, but Justin whispering that to me gives me deep, wicked chills, so I do what I’m good at. I deflect, “And you because you liked it—“  
  
“ _Shhh_ ,” he scolds me, “ _I was doing it for you. I enjoy showing you how obedient I can be…._ ," his voice trails off.  
  
“Which, admittedly, is rare.” I get a smack to my head for making that joke even though I can feel him laughing against me. “Plus, you had a bum foot. How would you’ve escaped if you’d wanted to?”  
  
Justin recovers from my sarcasm and stays focused on his own agenda, _“You liked it a little too much, watching someone use me like that. It’s fucked you up a little, hasn’t it?”_  
  
“I plead the fifth on that.”  
  
“I mean, now I get why you called _me_ and asked me to jerk off for _you_ ,” he analyzes.  
  
“Because I missed you. You weren’t even in bed this morning,” I defend.  
  
Justin studies me with an overly concerned expression on his face, “You poor man. You need some form or promise of sex about every four to six hours now to stay in control.”  
  
“I have the same dosing requirements as Advil, so sue me.”  
  
Justin commands my attention, “Let's review: you called me and asked me to jerk off fo you because you thought once I did that for you, the control would come back.”  
  
I roll my eyes at him. “Well, it didn’t. Are you happy?”  
  
He shakes his head at me wearing that _whatever am I going to do with you?_ look, and then he kisses me, this erotic but open-ended kiss that leaves my lips wet. He kisses my chin next, and then says, “I’m happy when you’re happy. Tell me what I can do to keep you that way.”  
  
“Well, this little surprise you gave me today, that will take me pretty far down the happiness highway. I can promise you that.” He nibbles on my shoulder while I talk. “But I was going to ask for something different before you surprised me.”  
  
He stops nibbling, pulls away and gives me a curious look, “Go on.”  
  
“I was going to ask you to...you know.., but you’re not in the right mood, so it’s okay.”  
  
Justin smiles at me, a big smile, his eyebrows raised, “I can adapt.”  
  
I demure just to mess with him, “No, it’s okay. We did that whole thing with the plug before; that was close enough.”  
  
The look of shock on his face is priceless. He’s on top of me now and the lecture begins, “You’re comparing me being inside you to that dumb little plug?”  
  
“It was just a joke, darling.”  
  
He's predictably incredulous, “A _joke_?”  
  
“Yes, dear. Don’t get the vapors.”  
  
“If I compared your cock to some toy I have, you’d divorce me, sue me and the dildo and leave me with nothing, Brian Kinney.”  
  
He’s so dramatic sometimes, especially when he’s right. “This is true. I retract the joke.”  
  
“You better,” he warns me as he relaxes on top of me, resuming the kissing initiative we’ve undertaken. This goes on for a few minutes, and I both enjoy it and understand it. He’s finding his current headspace and readjusting the dial. And when he feels satisfied that he’s done what he needs to do, he speaks softly into my ear, “So... tell me what you want.”  
  
I tell him the truth because this quadrant of our relationship relies on my honesty; this isn’t a place where teasing or being coy or pushing limits hangs out. This place is much more sparse, so I admit, “I need to let go.”  
  
He smiles at me, “Okay, I can help you with that.”  
  
Well, maybe a little teasing is all right here, “But those instructions you got from that salon say we shouldn’t, so there’s that.”  
  
He laughs, “Are you worried that waxing results are contagious, and if I fuck you, all your pubes will disappear?”  
  
“Well, I wasn’t, but now that you say that—“  
  
“I have a special vaccination for that; I mean, it’s rectal and all, but it’ll cure that in one or two shots.”  
  
“Well, thank the lord for that.”  
  
Again, Justin’s voice is inviting and sweet, “I want to make you feel really good.”  
  
“This is why I love you,” I admit. There’s an intensity between us that forties itself, regenerates any lost elements. Somehow I now feel like we’re inside a metaphorical blanket fort; his focus on me both sharpens and softens at the same time. “You know how to please me,” I remind him.  
  
“I know. I just like to hear you say it.”  
  
In the same way Justin often wants me to read his mind when he’s in a submissive state, I want him to read mine. An unfair request considering there’s little context for this chapter of our sex life. I try to throw keywords and innuendo at him, a lazy but effective form of charades. “You know what we did last night?” I query.  
  
“With Josh, you mean?”  
  
I shake my head, “No afterwards, just us—“  
  
“We took a bubble bath?”  
  
“Um, after that, on the floor.”  
  
His eyes tell me he’s thinking, running his internal thought clock backwards. He cocks his head to the side, “You mean you want me to fuck--. Oh, _oh okay_ , you mean in front of the fireplace. I mean, sure, but you’re nowhere near ready for that.”  
  
“I know but we have to start somewhere,” I admit.  
  
Justin combs through my hair with his fingers, his eyes on mine, “Okay. Do you want to be on your back like you are?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Okay,” he agrees and then starts kissing his way down my body, taking his time. I feel an immediate wave of relaxation, something I’ve needed all fucking day. He litters my cock with small faint kisses, his lips moving over my balls and then underneath them. Once he’s positioned between my legs, he gives me a little grin as his hands push my thighs apart. “Hand me—“ he says just as I’m sending a tube of lube sliding down the sheets. The slick pads of his thumbs skim the outline of my entrance as he asks, “That feel good?”  
  
“Good is in the rear view mirror. I’m way past good.”  
  
“You guide me, okay? Don’t let me push you too far.”  
  
“I want this; I’m serious.”  
  
“Brian, this is just the first step. Slow down a little,” he admonishes me.  
  
He slips a finger inside me and then another and begins to work me, to open me up. I raise my hands up over my head and hold on to the headboard. He fucks me with his hand, pushing deep enough for me to moan and start contorting myself to get the maximum pleasure out of this delicious intrusion.  
  
“Do you want to come? Because I’m still going to fuck you regardless.”  
  
“Let’s just go with it and see what happens,” I suggest.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Justin kisses my inner thigh, rubs his hand up and down my leg as it’s propped on his shoulder. This attention, physically and otherwise, feels like salve on my nerves laced with a little ecstasy.  
  
“You’re tight, but not as much as usual,” he observes.  
  
“You’re hard as hell,” I return. Justin smiles and wiggles his hips so his cock flops all over the place; he gives me a coy smile.  
  
“More?” he asks.  
  
“Don’t ask me, just go with your gut.”  
  
“You’re being a wee bit demanding tonight,” he points out.  
  
“I know.”  
  
We continue this experiment in a tactile silence, and he grins at me when I wrap my hand around my dick. And then he leans down and opens his perfect pink lips as I hold my cock where he needs it. I watch him tease me, watch his wet tongue flick out and glide over the head before the most maddening little suck begins. I emit the most desperate of sounds and start to get that wicked out of body feeling I get when the pleasure I’m experiencing knows it has no outlet because I already came tonight. It’s like there’s a low voltage blender in my working ball that’s trying like hell to stir something up but the blades are too dull. I want to pound something when this happens, put a hole in the wall, wish my other ball back between my legs...  
  
And then…  
  
” _Jesus holy fuck....oh god--_ ”  
  
…..  
  
*************  
**JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Okay, this was not supposed to happen. I wasn’t even ready. I was paying too much attention to his cock, and I just _accidentally and yet completely_ fisted Brian.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He looks half shocked, half confused. I don’t know if we should celebrate or call an ambulance.  
  
_’Don’t ask me, just go with your gut._ ’  
  
His cock lies lost on his stomach, also looking a little confused. I watch his chest rise and fall, so he’s breathing. That’s good.  
  
_Airway. Breathing. Ejaculation._  
  
I clear my throat, “Okay, so clearly I have very small hands. That was not on purpose.”  
  
“I can tell by the look on your face,” Brian offers, “But it still counts.”  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“My leg,” he gestures, “My hamstring feels like a tightrope.” I hear this and try to reposition it for him, and he winces in pain so I stop.  
  
“We’re kind of stuck here.” His leg is twitching and one of my hand’s lost inside him. “Pull it toward you, maybe?” I suggest.  
  
Brian nods as I push his thigh toward him very carefully. He bends his knee and slowly pulls it down towards his chest. This makes his hips shift a little causing a tortured ecstasy to flash across his face. “I can’t come,” he gasps, a desperately uncomfortable expression on his face.  
  
“That’s okay.”  
  
“No, I mean I want to come, but I can’t.” I offer to jerk him off, and he looks at me like I suggested we take an acid bath. “No, no, don’t do that.”  
  
“Okay. Want me to reverse course?” I try.  
  
“Yeah, but…,” he cautions as I start to pull my hand out, “Fuck, this is maddening.”  
  
I decide to give him less information and take decisive action. I move quickly and it’s done. It’s over. We’re separate again. I dart to the bathroom to clean up. When I get back to our bed, Brian’s lying on his side on my side of the bed. I find that endearing. I slide up behind him and spoon him. I start to apologize, and he turns his head back to me, “No, no. That’s not necessary.”  
  
“I’m not sure you’re okay.”  
  
He turns and kisses me and says, “That’s ridiculous.”  
  
I defend my assertion, “No, it’s not. I know what this feels like. It’s a little overwhelming every single time. I just took the last of your virginity...right? Like there was two percent left, and I just grabbed it and made a run for it.”  
  
Brian jokes, “Well, better you than anyone else. And I love the image of you running down our street, completely naked, carrying the last vestiges of my virginity.”  
  
"Yeah, all crusty and wrinkled, too."  
  
"You better take that back," Brian warns me. I laugh as I press myself against him; my arm locked around his waist, our fingers intertwined. I paste kiss after purposeful kiss on his broad shoulders, on the back of his neck, and then he breaks our silence, his voice low, his fingers squeezing mine, “Thanks for letting me try that.”  
  
You’re welcome.” And then I wonder, “Do you want another cigarette?”  
  
A low rumble of laughter seeps out of Brian, and he whispers something I can’t understand. “What?” I ask.  
  
“Nevermind. I’m good right now, but thank you.”  
  
“If there’s anything you need, please tell me.” I’m a little freaked out at how unprepared I am for this moment; I don’t have any of the snacks or electrolytes or water I should have. I have no bananas or peanut butter or painkillers. He just smoked; he has to be thirsty. Brian is meticulous about aftercare; I am, apparently, aftercare _less_.  
  
“This is all I need,” Brian says like he was reading my mind and then he exhales and our bodies meld together, my skin suctioned to his. For twenty years, Brian’s body has been a castle wall for me. It’s been a forboding monster and a human umbrella, and, at times and a much needed barricade. It’s dominated and sheltered me, and I’ve become addicted to all of those affects. But now, after this, it’s none of those things. It’s been transformed into the human equivalent of the soft side of Velcro. Now it’s about what I am to him.  
  
I don’t know what that is in this scenario.  
  
I sift his soft hair through my fingers and wonder if maybe he’s made it all the way to subspace. I ask him quietly, words spoken to his shoulder, “You’re in a good place, right? A place you feel safe?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I know I’m probably talking too much, but I feel like I should be doing more right now.”  
  
He turns his head and asks, “You’re not ready to fuck me?”  
  
“ _You’re_ not ready for me to fuck you,” I answer without even thinking because it’s the truth.  
  
“That’s what you said about the fisting.”  
  
Okay, he’s right. I did. “True, but I’m not ready right now either. This whole thing freaked me out a little.” As I confess this, Brian turns in my arms. He faces me and smiles so I kiss him.  
  
“I want you to fuck me,” he tells me with just his fingertips on my jaw, a gentle possession. “And I want you to want it.”  
  
“I think you should listen to your body,” I suggest.  
  
“I _am_ listening to my body, and I want you to fuck me. Don’t make me beg.” I’m unsettled by this ask and he can tell, but for those who think that Brian’s charms have worn off after all this time, they are foolish, foolish souls. He continues his campaign, “Right before your hand slipped, I felt it; that feeling I’ve felt in the opposite position with you. I could feel myself opening; I could feel that wicked burn that makes tears run down your face sometimes.”  
  
“And you liked it?” I ask.  
  
“I liked it, and I liked that it was _you_ , that I could feel anyway I wanted to in that moment. And that little trick you do my cock, that evil little head suck you give me, the flick of your tongue, Christ. Justin, you were so into it, it just caught both of us off guard.”  
  
“I’m glad you liked it.”  
  
“I want to feel the rest of it. I don’t want to come--”  
  
“Down?”  
  
“Right, not yet. Please.” HIs hand is between my legs, and I look down to watch him stroking me. “Just think, it’ll be the first time you fuck me all bare and waxed. You’ll feel everything. And I won’t feel….” Brian just lets that sentence trail off because we both know what he was going to say:  
  
_Empty._  
  
I let him win this round. “I want you on your hands and knees then.”  
  
Brian grins and gathers all of his limbs underneath him, his face pressed in the sheets. And before I can say what he knows I’m going to say, he preempts me, “It’s gonna hurt, and I want it to. Just like you want sometimes, okay? I will tell you if it’s much. I promise.”  
  
“Getting all the caveats over with ahead of time, huh?”  
  
“Fuck me, just do it.”  
  
I fuck Brian and he’s right about all of it, about the intense feeling of my sensitive skin slapping against him. He moans from pleasure and groans from pain all at once and reaches between his legs to still his cock and balls. He holds them tightly as we do this, and I know he’s not going to come. I can tell by the tenor of his voice that this is my home run only. In a way, that makes it worse for him because I’m only catering to myself. Sometimes I look down and just watch my dick sliding in and out of him. It still feels like magic when I shoot. Vaccination complete. And then its over, and step by step, we end up back in our original spoon, only I’m inside him now.  
  
And I don’t move.  
  
He takes my hand and rubs his chest with it, like we’re in the tub together. Sometimes he stops and kisses it and then puts it back. “It’s like this really was opposite day,” he muses.  
  
“The last twenty four hours have been monumental for our sex life,” I offer.  
  
Brian says, “ _Mon-u-men-tal_ ,” all silly and drawn out. “You left our bed this morning,” he scolds me again, “That’s what made this turn into freaky Friday.”  
  
“Maybe I need one of those hall pass things to get out of bed instead of out of school.”  
  
Brian responds, “I could make you one, but just know that if I do, it’ll look a lot like a wooden paddle.”  
  
“That sounds delightful.”  
  
“ _Hmmm…,_ " Brian purrs  
  
“Don’t do that,” I warn him, “I can’t stop that fantasy once it starts. We won’t sleep at all tonight.”  
  
He changes the subject, “Were you painting your zombie dream this morning?”  
  
“You noticed, huh?”  
  
“It’s nice to watch you create something I understand a little ahead of time. That almost never happens.”  
  
“That’s true. I have some really crazy ideas about it, too.”  
  
“You’ll bounce them around with Harper like you always do.”  
  
“I’m sure I will,” I answer. He’s okay with it, and I like that. “Are you getting sore or anything? I want to take good care of you. It’s important to me.”  
  
“I’ll be sore tomorrow, all over probably,” Brian admits.  
  
“If you are, please let me fawn all over you. Don’t be a hero about it, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” he concedes with fake irritation in his voice. “Do you still want to explore bringing in a third person, a slave?”  
  
“Yeah, I do. After last night, that dynamic was amazing.”  
  
Brian explains, "I thought I might feel jealous the day after, you know, but, instead, I was so fucking intrigued by your experience. It was like watching and being in an action movie all at once. You were fucking fearless. You were handing me gift after gift.”  
  
“Well, see, it’s so much nicer than a gift card. It’s the real thing.”  
  
Brian laughs and begins to stretch his legs and I pull out to let him. He took his body on a new route tonight and now it’s time (no pun intended) to get the kinks out. He picks up his phone and I’m about to get offended, but he clarifies, “I want to show you something. I saw it on Instagram.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
He turns his screen to me and it’s a black and white photo of a [woman in kinky lingerie](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5jJzJCBLle/) on her back on the floor. There’s a leather hood on her head and it connects to thigh cuffs so her knees are open and pulled back. Her wrists are cuffed above her head. “You want to add a woman?” I tease him.  
  
“When I look at that, all I see is you. Faceless, bound, helpless, and dutifully waiting to be fucked.”  
  
"When I look at that, I think of early Madonna."  
  
Brian flicks my head and then rubs it to apologize, “I see the best boy in the entire world who's mine, even when someone else is fucking him. He shares his very tight bottom anytime I tell him to.”  
  
“Oh my god, stop this. We’re going to spontaneously combust.”  
  
“All that group sex we had twenty years ago, this was completely different.”  
  
“Yes. What a difference a mind fuck makes.”  
  
Brian purrs again, only this time like some wild animal eyeing me as prey, pressing his forehead against mine. His voice is husky and rough, “I'm ready to come now. Should I come on you or in you?”  
  
I'm ready for this; I push Brian on his back and straddle him, and he holds my hips in his hands and requests, “Turn the other way.”  
  
I do, and he directs me to press my chest against his legs, and then he rubs his hand across my ass a few times before holding me steady to spank me. I need this. I feel like I’m home from a long day at work and climbing into a bed of heated sheets that loves me. I don’t know if the words I hear him saying are real or in my head until he says, “Sit on me,” and moves me into position.  
  
There is nothing in this world that feels more right than Brian filling me up, than riding his cock, than listening to all of his protestations and pleasure. His fingers dig into my thighs as he tells me, “Squeeze me with that perfect bottom.” The second I do, he comes and seconds later, his body immediately unwinds underneath me. I feel all this tension melt away, his hands release me. I turn around very carefully to maintain our connection, and Brian’s grinning, his arms stretched out side to side. “I am the luckiest man in the world,” he declares.  
  
“No, I would argue that I am.”  
  
“Now, can I have that last cigarette?” he asks me.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
He nods and lights up, his arms stretching back out after every puff. And then he really looks at me sitting on him and begins to run his finger over my bare skin like he’s committing it to memory. And then he announces, “Tomorrow night, there’s a new slave initiation at Release if you want to go and watch and maybe do a little window shopping.”  
  
“What’s it like?”  
  
“Well,” Brian gives me a coy smile, “It’s very different from your night there.”  
  
“Okay, different how?”  
  
“Um, planned out and agreed to ahead of time, and run by whichever Dom’s adopted that slave. There’s a lot of preparation.”  
  
“Can we just watch?”  
  
“Yep, and that’s all we’ll do. They’ve divided up the dungeon space in rings now. So the center ring is outlined in green paint because if you’re in that area, you’re in the scene. Then there’s a yellow ring where guys can watch, interact and play and maybe enter the green ring.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“And then there’s the outer red ring which is observation only. Anyone, Dom or sub or whatever, can watch without fear of being approached.”  
  
“So we would stay in the red?”  
  
“Yes."  
  
"How do I get in? I'm not a slave there anymore, remember?"  
  
Brian considers my question, his fingers tapping on my thigh, "You know how universerities give those honorary degrees to important people? It's like that. You're--well, _our_ \--experience was a bit of a canary in the coal mine for them. They were starting to grow, and didn't really have the right policies in place. So, you are welcome there anytime you like at no cost, with or without me, for the rest of your natural life."  
  
"Wow, that's a little overkill."  
  
"And they are live streaming it for the first time, so anyone in the red will not be seen or heard on camera. If somebody wants to change that, they can. They just stand in the color they want, like if someone is uncomfortable in green, they don’t have to notify anybody. They just move to the level they want. It’s fluid.”  
  
“Interesting. Who came up with that? Dave?”  
  
“Me and Dave because I’m monetizing that place for them. Dave and I hammered it over lunch one day.”  
  
“Sounds like a much better setup. Do I wear my collar? How do we dress? Does it matter?"  
  
"However you want, and if you want to wear your collar, you can. Even if no one but me knows you have it on." My collar question taps into a soft spot of Brian's. He extinguishes his cigarette and motions with his hands, “Come here.”  
  
I unimpale myself and he folds me in his arms and hugs me tightly. He kisses my hair as I press my face against his chest. “I just want to be clear, though,” he says, “ _I_ am the luckiest man in this world and in this bed.”  
  
“Can’t we just tie for first?” I ask.  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
I roll my eyes at him, “Well, boys and girls, congratulations. You’ve just witnessed the world’s shortest submissive streak ever recorded.”  
  
Brian pinches my ass so hard I shriek a little and then tells me he loves me.  
  
……  
  
We sleep til noon on Saturday.


	32. Negotiations 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/10/20-Originally published
> 
> I hope everyone has gotten used to me flipping back and forth between first and second person. I will no longer announce it, as it seems to be a feature and not a bug. :)

**NEGOTIATIONS 33  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Prior to your much anticipated Saturday night activities, you and Brian spend a few hours running errands and tending to tasks that need to be done. You chose the tasks involving shopping because you didn’t want to be the one figuring out if the maniacal raccoon that likes to sleep in your pool house had actually, officially, been evicted. When you returned from your errands, Brian met you in the garage to help you unload and to make sure you hadn’t forgotten to get his cigarettes. That’s when your antennae went up, the super sensitive one that can detect a particular type of warm static between you increasing. You can feel it in the way Brian chooses what to carry inside, the way he holds the door from the garage to the kitchen open a little longer than necessary, the way he smiles as he puts the groceries away. Just to see if you’re picking up what you think you are, you purposely assist him less and less until he’s absorbed the entire responsibility and you’re just standing there. He starts to fold the paper bags and you lean your body against the counter, your hands curved into the sink. A stranger would think that you’re looking out of your kitchen window, maybe lost in a daydream, but you’re not.  
  
You’re just waiting.  
  
Waiting for him to walk to the laundry room, put the bags away, and come back to you with purpose. Purpose is something Brian rarely exists without. He stands behind you, his large hands curving around your biceps. “Was it busy?” he asks.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“The store. Was it busy?”  
  
“Oh yeah, more or less. Lots of designer yoga pants.”  
  
Brian’s thumbs start to massage your shoulder blades, and your head hangs in response. “You still want to go tonight?” he asks.  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“We need to go over some guidelines then.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I want you to go downstairs and wait for me.”  
  
“Oh, you mean--?”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll be down in about five minutes.”  
  
“What are we doing?”  
  
Brian leans down and speaks into your ear, “ _Preparation._ ”  
  
You smile out the window as he leaves a kiss on your cheek.  
  
**********  
The dungeon is open when you get there, the door cracked about six inches, the lights on, water and nuts stocked on the nightstand. You sit on the bed, cross your legs, and clear out your phone, making sure there’s no one unanswered or left hanging. When you hear his footsteps on the stairs, you mute the device and put it face down next to the water. When Brian enters, he has your evening’s clothes stacked in his arms, your diamond collar on top. He sits them on an empty chair, and then squats beside the bed, making a hand motion everyone who’s five years and up understands. You hang your feet off the mattress and watch him untie your shoes, take them off and then peel your socks away. He massages your feet as you stroke his hair; he pushes his thumb between each one of my toes. “That feels really good,” you let him know.  
  
He smiles and then asks you, “Good. Who do you belong to?”  
  
“You.”  
  
“And on a scale of one to ten, how well do I take care of you?” he asks next.  
  
“Twelve.”  
  
“Follow instructions, Justin,” he admonishes.  
  
You roll your eyes, “ _Ten._ ”  
  
“Thank you. That’s better.” You grin at him as he stands up and then instructs you to lie back on the bed. He lies beside you, his hand spread wide on your torso. His eyes study your face, “We need to go over a few things about tonight,” he says.  
  
“Okay.” You like looking up at the cut of Brian’s jaw; you asked him not to shave today, and he didn’t.  
  
“First, the posture we’re in right now, that’s how we’re going to stay until I say otherwise, okay?” You nod; he doesn’t mean your literal posture; he means your roles. “That being said, if you feel uncomfortable at any time, I need you to tell me. There’ll be a lot to pay attention to there tonight, and if I miss a cue or misread something, you need to check in with me, I want you to promise me that you will.”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
“If you decide you don’t like watching the initiation or it gets to be too much, that’s okay. We can leave at any time or we can take a break for a few minutes if you feel overwhelmed.”  
  
“Brian, come on. You don’t need to lecture me; I can handle myself.”  
  
“I know you can, but your state of mind will be different than it is right now.” You curl toward him intentionally so he’ll fold you in his arms. “What?” he inquires, suspicious of your affection.  
  
“You are quite purposely fucking with my state of mind right now.”  
  
“I told you.. _preparation._ ” He kisses you and right as you close your eyes, you decide not to because he’s talking again, “It’s not just how I feel or how you feel when we’re there tonight; it’s how _we_ feel. If you start to feel like a _me_ instead of a _we_ , that’s the moment you need to flag for me, and I’ll do the same for you.”  
  
“Are you going to wear your four star general uniform, too, or is that just for right now?” you tease him, “Because if you keep this up, I’m going to start saluting you three times a day at least.”  
  
“Naked,” Brian adds, “You mean saluting me naked,” and then pushes you onto your back, simultaneously pushing your shirt up and planting a kiss on your sternum. He drags his scruff across your skin and then stops to suck on a nipple. You get goose bumps everywhere, and he can feel them. He laughs against your chest. “This only ever happens with your left nipple,” Brian reminds you.  
  
“I know; I can’t control it.”  
  
The more attention he pays to your nipple, the more you feel each flick of his tongue, the more you feel your goose bumps feel becoming a mountain range. You stare at the ceiling until you feel a vicious pinch and look down to see a black metal clamp where his mouth once was. Brian brushes his hand across your face like he’s trying to wipe away the betrayed expression you must be wearing. “Be a good boy for me,” he says.  
  
“That fucking _hurts_ ,” you whine, and Brian looks at you with pity, his voice deceptively sweet, “I know. I’m sorry. Take your shirt off.” You obey begrudgingly because you know what’s going to happen next. His body glides over yours to land on your other side. Your mind wants to reject him but your body won’t, and he knows that; he uses your weaknesses against you. And while he’s sucking hard on your other nipple, you feel his hand race down your stomach to your jeans.  
  
If only you weren’t so hard.  
  
Because he teases you, tells you what it means, runs his fingertip over the wet, back and forth, moaning all the while because your pain is pleasure for him. “This is how I know you’re a pain slut,” Brian says, “Because if I gave you a choice right now: either stop the pain or make you come, we both know what you’d choose.”  
  
“Don’t embarrass me,” you complain.  
  
“With the truth? You’re embarrassed by the truth?” he badgers.  
  
“Yes, okay....yes.”  
  
“Okay, well there’s no rush. There’s plenty of time for you to prove me wrong.”  
  
He starts pushing your pants down, and once they’re off, he makes you watch the second clamp, spreads it open and then fakes you out multiple times before letting it bite. You bitch at him again, although you know it’s pointless; the expression on his face is making you very unsettled. You’re naked; he’s not, and he’s _very_ happy to be toying with you. He kisses you, and you try to use that time to suss out any iota of power you might have in this weird situation.  
  
 _I could resist….  
  
I could seduce him…_  
  
But all of that is a fool’s errand.  
  
***********  
By the time you and Brian get in his Mercedes to go to Release a couple of hours later, your ass is throbbing and your pants feel too tight. You rotate which cheek is actually touching the seat until Brian tells you to stop. He finds your complaining to be a bit much. He has your seat warmer blasting which you suspect is intentional to make everything worse, but you don’t mention it because you don’t want to know if you’re right.  
  
The preparation for the evening’s outing was more intense than you expected. You were across Brian’s lap for an extended time by any measure, and he was dressed for all of it. He ‘punished’ you for the unapproved waxing and made you fuck far too many dildos to the edge of orgasm over and over only to be pulled back, denied, and spanked again for trying. When the painful attention finally paused, it confused you as you panted and expected more. “You’re done,” Brian said, and when you asked a breathy, unsatisfied, _Why?_ , he told you it was because your facial expression had locked. You were no longer differentiating between pain and pleasure.  
  
And, that, he said, was what he wanted.  
  
Still across his lap, your face numb, your lips hanging heavy like they were filled with lumpy cookie dough, you asked, “Please, do I get to come?” His touch no longer agonizing, he took control of your body again, holding you in position as he extricated himself and then drug you by your hips to the edge of the bed. You watched through your armpit as he unzipped his jeans; you watched his hand pumping his cock only once, and then you watched his face as he started to fuck you. You forgot all about the pain when he filled you, and it wasn’t until you felt his hands on your stomach and then your chest that you remember those fucking clamps were still there. You watched in helpless fright as Brian’s fingers found, manipulated and opened each one; you let a yelp escape your throat and vanish into the mattress.  
  
“ _Shhh_ ,” he told your shoulder blades, “Concentrate on coming for me, okay?”  
  
That train was already barrelling down the final track, so you stiffened, “Harder, okay? Harder-- _Fuck me--_ ”  
  
It felt like a head-on collision at seventy five miles an hour, and then it was over. Your body flattened like a magic carpet for his body. With a soothing voice and hands, Brian explained that what he’d put you through was necessary because he wanted to, “Make it easy for you to remember who you belong to once you’re in a crowded room watching men doing god’s know what for their own satisfaction.”  
  
“Why in the world would you think I’d forget that?” you ask him.  
  
“It’s not really what you _think_. I guess I want you to _feel_ it all over your skin, to know it tactically.”  
  
“Brian, I’ll be right next to you wearing a diamond studded collar that cost as much as a used car. There isn’t a soul within five hundred miles who wouldn’t know that I belong to you.”  
  
“I like to think they’d know in outer space,” he muses and points to the moon through the windshield, “That’s why I bought the one with all the diamonds.”  
  
 _He is slightly bananas._  
  
…...  
  
You decide to bring the conversation back to this world with a statement of truth, “My nipples hurt, by the way. They’re gonna bruise.”  
  
Brian looks over at you and rubs his hand over your thigh, “I have pain pills. Do you want one?”  
  
You sigh, “No, not yet, but thank you.”  
  
Brian thinks of everything all the time.  
  
***********  
Release is so packed when you arrive that Brian texts Dave to get you inside. He sends Rusty, who always smells like he’s just had non-con sex with a farm animal, to escort you. When you get into the lobby, you can see Dave in his office looking ecstatic. Brian muscles both of you in and Dave extols Brian’s advertising skills because he’s going to clear twice what he thought he’d bring in. Brian looks back at you and raises his eyebrows which is his way of telling you that’s good news for your bank account. But then Dave’s expression darkens, “But there are so many people waiting online and outside that we’re gonna have to split this into two shows.”  
  
“Tonight? Both shows?” Brian asks.  
  
“Yeah, I can’t lose this momentum. No way. I guess we’re going to initiate the same slave twice.”  
  
Brian again glances back at you with raised eyebrows, and you scold him, “Get that idea out of your head. That’s not happening.”  
  
He winks at you, “Worth a shot, though, right?”  
  
“No, not really,” you scoff.  
  
“Offer folks twenty percent back if they agree to be bumped to the second show,” Brian suggests.  
  
“My thoughts as well, but I can’t pretend the second show is the first initiation. We have to have some integrity.”  
  
Brian suggests that you and he check out the crowd and see if there are any good candidates for an unplanned second show. You demure and let Brian do it with Rusty (who reminds you of the Irish Spring guy only he doesn’t actually use the soap) while you wait in the comfort of Dave’s office. “You look very nice tonight, Justin,” he says, “Did Brian dress you?”  
  
“How can you tell?” you ask in your tight black dress shirt, tight black pants, and diamond collar visible inside your shirt collar.  
  
“I don’t know. It’s just a hunch.” There’s a tap on the door and Dave speaks, “It’s open.” Josh steps into the office and shuts the door behind him. He grins when he sees you sitting there, “Well, hello. How are you?”  
  
“I’m good. You?” You offer as little eye contact as possible because you don’t know if Dave knows what happened two nights ago. You hope no one knows, but then you wonder if that’s why everyone’s so friendly. Josh turns to Dave, “So, do we have a plan?”  
  
“We’re working on it. Brian and Rusty are looking for a possible second slave in the crowd out there.” You intentionally stare at your shoes because you don’t want either of them to think there is any chance of you volunteering. Just then, the door to the small room opens again, and Brian and Rusty are back. “That was quick? Any luck?”  
  
“No,” Brian says.  
  
“No one I’d be comfortable with,” Rusty adds.  
  
“Well, we can’t schedule show two on next Saturday night because the lesbians have it. We have to figure something out,” Dave announces defeated. “We need this money. Think of something,” he tells Josh, and he and Rusty nod and leave the office. You look at your watch.  
  
Show number one starts in half an hour.  
  
***********  
The idea came to you as you watched Dave and Brian brainstorm while an old light bulb above the desk hissed and went out. Both men sighed. “Brian,” you said, leaning forward and tapping on his shoulder, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”  
  
Dave decided to step out, mumbling about how the renovation they eventually do at Release will give this office a private bathroom. Brian turned around in his chair, “What’s up?”  
  
“I have an idea that might work.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. What if you use the same slave for both shows but let the second show be like an informed initiation for him and the audience?”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“So sometimes when I watch this kind of adult entertainment--”  
  
“Just say porn,” Brian teases.  
  
“Whatever. When the scene is over, they let you watch the aftermath, like the debrief where the dom talks with the sub or subs and asks how they like it and what they liked the most and what they liked the least. Sometimes they even show some aftercare. So, it’s two initiations but there’s a break in the middle where the dom collects feedback from the sub and then part two resumes with that feedback incorporated, like more choking and less caning or whatever.”  
  
“Hmm, that might work,” Brian muses, “Although I am slightly in awe of your BDSM porn scene structure recall.”  
  
“I have a lot of free time, okay? Anyway, they’ll have to prep the slave beforehand so he knows what’s happening. Well, you have to prep everyone actually.”  
  
You give Dave your pitch when he returns, and he says it’s worth a try. “Can you go float this idea to Josh and his slave?” he asks you, “So Brian and I can work out the staging?”  
  
You’re surprised, “You want _me_ to pitch it?”  
  
“Please. Time is ticking away.”  
  
Brian smiles at you, “You can handle it. They’re in that horrible room down the hall on the left.”  
  
“Um, okay. I’ll go pitch it.” You bounce on your toes for some inane reason and then calm yourself down.  
  
Brian grips your forearm as you turn to walk out, “If it’s a no, text me immediately. Otherwise, we’ll assume it’s all good.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
He kisses you quickly and then releases you so you can go. You maneuver your way down the packed hallway. You tap on the closed door and hear, “Just a minute, please,” clearly Josh’s voice.  
  
……  
  
As you wait, you decide that this is good practice if you and Brian are going to get your own slave one day, so maybe you’ll just go with this and see what happens. When Josh opens the door, he pulls it closed behind him and addresses you in the hallway, “Can I help you?”  
  
You explain the idea you came up with and Josh says it’s worth a try, but he would prefer that you present it to Eighty-four instead of him in case Eighty-four isn’t okay with it. “I don’t want him to think he has to do this for me because of our power dynamic, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, um, okay.”  
  
“Okay, come get me or text me when you’re done.”  
  
“The guys are trying to work out the staging,” you tell him, “Because you have to have a place for this interaction to happen on camera.”  
  
 _Who knew I could direct?_  
  
“Right, right,” Josh nods, “Okay. I’ll go check that out.”  
  
He leaves and you inhale and open the door to the ugliest room on the planet and see Eighty-four at the far end of the room on the decrepit khaki couch. He’s wearing a black silky bathrobe and his legs are tucked underneath him. “Hi, I’m Justin,” you say as you walk toward him, your hand extended.  
  
“Matt,” he says, gesturing with his entire lanky body, “I mean ‘Eighty-four.’” You shake his numbered hand and discern that he’s in his early twenties and extremely skinny. As he moves to make room for you on the sofa, you see that the outline of his knees seems to jab and poke the air rather than glide through it. He has dingy light brown hair that’s cut way too choppy and there’s some dirt under his fingernails. His eyes are a fierce blue, though. Every other feature is just angle upon angle, like someone threw his bones in the air and just put them back together in no logical order. “Is there something wrong?” he asks you and that’s when you realize that you’re wearing your thoughts on your face. You shake your head and smile intentionally, “Wrong? No. Unforeseen? A little.”  
  
Matt gives you a quizzical look, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, apparently, there’s a unexpectedly high demand to watch your initiation tonight. There are so many people here in person and in the queue online that they may need to make some adjustments.”  
  
“Do you work here?” he asks you, “Are you like in charge of all the slaves?”  
  
You laugh, “No, no. I’m not in charge of anyone--”  
  
“I just thought that’s what your collar meant or something,” he observes.  
  
You run your finger across the diamonds and clarify, “No, no. I apologize. Let me explain a little better. My husband runs an ad agency, and Release, this place, is a client. We were here just to watch tonight, but the demand’s so high, he’s helping them troubleshoot.”  
  
“Oh, okay.”  
  
“And I had an idea so they asked me to come talk to you.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“This is just a brainstorm I had, so you don’t have to say yes or anything. They have to have two distinct shows because there’s a limit on how many people can be in that dungeon. You know, fire marshall rules and all that.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“So my thought was, maybe they can split your initiation into two shows. First show goes as already planned but a little shorter, and then there’s an intermission and a chance for you to talk with….Master...Josh on camera about what you liked and didn’t like, and then they do the second show, again, shorter, and they incorporate your feedback into it. But, also, let me stop and ask, is this your first time ever in a slave role?”  
  
“Oh, no. Just my first time on camera and with this many Doms.”  
  
“Whew, okay. So what do you think about the idea?”  
  
Matt hums a little as he considers your offer, straightens his legs out and flexes his feet making his ankles crack loudly before he pulls them back in. “I think it works.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll go tell Josh.” You bounce up off the sofa, “Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Wait, though, I have a question.”  
  
You turn around, “Yeah?”  
  
“Will you be there?”  
  
“Be where?”  
  
“In that scene where I give the feedback?”  
  
“Oh, no. I’m not a part of this or anything.”  
  
“I’ll do it if you’re there, like you ask me the questions because I won’t exactly be in a sober state of mind and I’ve never officially played with Josh.”  
  
Yeah, but you don’t know me either,” you offer as a deterrent to this idea.  
  
Matt leans forward, his giant bare feet on the floor, “I just had a conversation with you on a sofa on how a scene might go. I know you well enough to think you’re qualified to have another conversation with me on a different piece of furniture.”  
  
 _His skinny ass has a really good point._  
  
“What if I go find another guy who’s actually works here to do it with you?” you try.  
  
“I want you. I feel comfortable with you.” And then he points to the clock on the wall, “We’re already going to start late.”  
  
“Okay, fine. Fair enough. I’ll do it.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Have a good scene.”  
  
You walked out in the hall making sure the door clicked shut behind you and saw that the dungeon was open now and already halfway full of spectators.  
  
 _Why do I get roped into shit every time I come here?_  
  
….  
  
 _Ha, good one._  
  
***********  
You and Brian are ushered into the dungeon just as the doors are closing. The room is almost uncomfortably full. You tug on Brian’s arm and pull him against the cinder block wall and whisper, “I need you to put my collar in your pocket.” Due to the outfit Brian picked out for you, you don’t have a suitable pocket of your own. He refuses. “Please,” you implore.  
  
“No. Just leave it on.”  
  
“I don’t want to wear it on camera,” you explain.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
You glance around and further lower your voice, leaning toward him, “Because I’m the best looking submissive in here by a mile, and they think this collar means I’m their leader.”  
  
Brian laughs, “Just button your shirt higher. You’ll be fine.”  
  
“I don’t know why I agreed to this. _Fuck._ ” As you bitch, Brian steers you through the crowd in the red zone, his hand on your lower back. “Okay, this is really fucked because I can’t even see anything,” you continue.  
  
“Want me to put you on my shoulders like we’re at Disney World?”  
  
“Maybe,” you grouse, “How can I interview him about an initiation I didn’t see happen?”  
  
“Okay, okay, stay put. I’ll fix this.”  
  
You watch him disappear into the throng of horny men, and when he returns, he has a small step ladder. He props it open and gestures with his open hand, “Here, your highness.”  
  
“How’d you find this?”  
  
“Secret closet. I know things.”  
  
You have to climb to the actual tippy top of the ladder to see anything, so Brian holds you steady from your less than subtle perch in the back of the room. It occurs to you that were you to hold your arms out to your sides, you’d look like a kinky version of that Jesus statue in Rio de Janeiro. The location gives you an amazing view of all the bald spots in progress. “Let me know if anything good happens,” Brian jokes.  
  
“Whose idea was it to have like zero seating in here?” you wonder aloud.  
  
“It’s a learning process. It’ll be okay. I’m eye level with your butt so I’m good either way.”  
  
You’d kick him but it would result in an you falling and busting your ass, so you just swing your hip into his head. “Foreplay?” he asks.  
  
“Shut up.” Brian moves his steadying hand between your legs, running it up your thigh. He presses his thumb between your cheeks. “Would you stop that please?” you request.  
  
“Um, no. I thought I was going to sit on that one loveseat over there and get to fondle you through this whole thing, but you had to go and give yourself a job,” Brian laments.  
  
“I was trying to help solve _your_ client’s problem.”  
  
“Well, no good deed goes unpunished, that’s for sure.”  
  
“That’s how it should be. Punishment is awesome.”  
  
“That’s my boy,” he teases. The room quiets down, and Dave addresses the overflow crowd and suggests that people be cognizant that not everyone has a good vantage point, that the crowd is larger than expected but that he needs and expects a certain amount of decorum because what we’re about to watch is not acting; it’s real. Then, he explains how the evening will work, how they are dealing with the overflow, and the use of safe words and safe zones in the space. When this is done, Josh leads a nude Matt from the wall to the center of the space on a leash. His hands are cuffed in front of him. Josh assists him as he kneels on a small wooden platform about two to three feet off the ground. He secures the collar leash to the back edge of the platform to keep Matt where he is and then he blindfolds and gags him.The gag is a steel open mouth style. It looks very uncomfortable.  
  
A three minute period begins in which anyone in the room can come up and explore Eighty-four, touch him in any way they like. Participants can speak to him, but he is not permitted to respond. He’s fondled roughly, verbally degraded and one Dom you don’t know by name spits in his open mouth which then gives everyone else the same idea and triggers a spit train. When that three minutes is up, Josh unhooks the leash from the platform and changes the gag in Eighty-four’s mouth to a ball gag before repositioning him on all fours. The leash is secured again in a way that forces the slave to keep his head upright and focused straight ahead on all of you. Another three minute timer is set, and the process begins again. Some folks in the yellow and red zones (the ones not in ass-less chaps mostly) decide to sit down, so Brian can finally see what’s going on, his head leaning against your thigh. You feel like Matt is using you like a birthing focal object throughout this humiliation. His eyes stay fixated on your face.  
  
You ponder coming off the ladder or at least maybe sitting on it vs standing, but Eighty-Four is using your elevated position to get him through the scene and Brian’s thumb feels really good. You aren’t even sure if he’s aware that it’s moving, massaging you. You reach down and stroke his hair and his fingers tighten around your leg in response.  
  
Eighty-four is released and moved again; this time to the St. Andrew’s cross. Josh gives an explanation about pain tolerance. There are three hooded nude slaves moved to one side of the cross in a kneeling position. They keep their heads down. Throughout the impact play on the cross, you focus more on Josh than on Matt. He’s shirtless in a pair of tight black pants. Josh is beautiful in that all American man kind of way. Anyone who met him outside of a kinky situation, would never think he was anything but pure sweet vanilla. He’s completely unlike Brian in that way because while Brian exudes sex appeal twenty-four seven, Josh gives off the complete opposite vibe. It’s odd but interesting.  
  
As the first half comes to a close, Dave tells folks to feel free to leave the room, take a bathroom break, etc, while they set up for the transition. You look to your right and see two slaves you don’t know pick up the [maroon leather loveseat ](https://www.officechairs.com/Button-Tufted-Traditional-Loveseat-CH04836.aspx)and begin to move it to the front of the room. Both slaves smile at you. You recognize one of them as Sixty, the guy in the suspended cage on your first outing here. You smile back and tell Brian you’re ready to come down.  
  
***********  
Prior to your on-camera interview with Eighty-four, you finally convince Brian to hold onto your collar just while you’re on camera. He rolls his eyes at you and rolls the collar in his fingers, crossing his arms and leaning against a wall. You introduce him to Matt and Brian nods and gives him a cursory hello. The interview lasts about five minutes during which the audience has reassembled but agrees to be quiet. You ask Eighty-four how he feels, specifically referring to him by his number. He seems happy and comments about the red marks on his back from the impact play. “I like those kind of reminders, I guess.” Josh compliments him, says he’s very proud of his slave so far, and he looks forward to part two. When you ask Eighty-four what he’s looking forward to in the second half, he points to the four or five Doms off camera, “Them. I can’t wait to see what they do to me.” Someone off camera starts clapping, and laughter rumbles through the room. “We promise to do our very best, and take very good care of you when we’re done,” Josh confirms.  
  
Filming stops, and you return to Brian to get your collar back and tell him that you need to pee. He follows you into the single use bathroom, “You did really well. You weren’t nervous at all,” he compliments you. “My heart was pounding like crazy,” you tell him, “I was not comfortable at all.” Brian hugs you from behind as you urinate, “Well, nobody could tell. You’re like a slave whisperer now.”  
  
“Let’s get in there and get that love seat before anybody else,” you tell him. “I don’t want to stand the entire time.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll pee fast.”  
  
The two of you get back inside the dark room just as the slaves are putting the loveseat back in place. You throw yourself on it the second they let go of it. Sixty laughs at you, “Hey, you did pretty good with him. We all liked it.”  
  
“I was so freaked out, I barely remember it,” you admit to him.  
  
“I’m glad you came back. I heard, you know, that your first time here was gonna be your last.”  
  
“I just decided not to be a slave on the roster; that’s all.” Sixty nods and steps away to tell the other slaves how to arrange furniture for the second show. Brian sits down next to you and puts his arm around you. You lean against him. He smells your hair and comments, “Finally, I get you all to myself.”  
  
“I think this part is going to be a real live gang bang. Is that what you think?” you ask him.  
  
“Pretty much. Is that okay with you?”  
  
You smile, “Yeah. I’m excited.”  
  
“Then so am I,” Brian agrees. You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his hand that hangs over your shoulder. “ _I’m already hard,_ ” Brian whispers to you.  
  
“Of course, you are. You had your thumb up my butt for forty-five minutes.”  
  
“Pardon me, but I don’t recall you complaining.”  
  
“Shhh,” you tell him, “Here we go,” as Dave quiets the room and then addresses the entire room full of new attendees. You and Brian are the only audience members that were present for the first show. You like that; no one really knows you, and it leaves you and Brian to concentrate on one another.  
  
But the make out session you were eagerly anticipating was not to be for a reason you’d never met before.


	33. Negotiations 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/4/20-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 34  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Brian’s finger was tracing your collar and then trailing up and behind your ear while Eighty-Four was cuffed to a bondage board and penetrated with a grease gun by Josh. The sound Eighty-Four made when that circumference of steel was pushed inside him, _fuck_ , you could feel it first in the pit of your stomach and then you felt your own ass opening like it was you on that platform. You looked up at Brian and kissed him on the chin, and that’s when you saw him: your distraction.  
  
A man.  
  
A young man.  
  
Well, just a guy, basically.  
  
He was leaning against the dungeon wall with one foot pressed against the cinder blocks, and you gave him a quick but critical once over to determine whether or not you knew him from anywhere.  
  
You didn’t.  
  
He was focused only on his phone with a very irritated expression on a devastatingly handsome face. Years with Brian have taught you how to size up a man in a gay sexual environment very discreetly and accurately. This guy was young, not even thirty and was, quite simply, the most perfect hipster specimen you’d ever laid eyes on. He was about five foot ten, fit, trim, white, with brown hair a bit warmer and lighter than Brian’s. It was very thick and purposely styled as was his beard. A quick calculation on his clothing and you knew his outfit and shoes cost at least five hundred dollars. (That’s another talent you honed from Brian. He uses it on clients to determine whether or not they can afford his services; you use it for ‘off label’ purposes.) This new kid, he reminds you of a sweeter, younger Jake Gyllenhaal.  
  
He didn’t see you peeking at him because he was texting fiercely and visibly bothered. Brian misinterprets your head position to mean that you want more attention from him, but he’s very interested in the gang bang happening ten feet away. He squeezes your shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’ll take very good care of you tonight.”  
  
You turn your head and try to focus on the debauchery happening in front of you. Eighty-Four appears to be having a wonderfully horrible experience. You feel a strange bond with him, maybe because you can tell he’s flying somewhere outside of his body, a fellow citizen of subspace.  
  
You sit up a bit against Brian, and this time, turn your head and really look at your hipster hunk to see if he attempts to make eye contact. His phone's down, and his arms are crossed firmly across his chest. His jaw's set firm, and his eyes keep going back and forth between the EXIT signs on either side of the room. You stiffen a little and start to get nervous, a crazy idea that maybe he’s a terrorist...a homophobe….the bomb...at Babylon….  
  
You tap on Brian’s shoulder and he sees your concerned expression and lowers his head so you can whisper to him, “ _I think there’s something up with the guy beside you.”  
  
“I promise, I’ll fuck you immediately in the car when this is over.”  
  
“Not me, dumb ass. I mean the actual guy standing next to you, on your left.”_ Brian starts to turn, and you chastise him, _”Be subtle.”_  
  
You start looking for fire alarms that you could pull if you needed to even though you could just as easily and effectively stand up and scream. When Brian turns and looks at your discovery, your discovery smiles at Brian. And in that one second smile, you relax. You know that smile. He’s attracted to Brian. He’s not a terrorist.  
  
 _Whew._  
  
“He looks fine to me,” Brian tells you.  
  
“Well, a few minutes ago, he was pissed and texting like a mad man. He scared me.”  
  
“You’re afraid of men texting?”  
  
“He just was very not happy about something. Look at his body language. Something’s bothering him.”  
  
Brian turns again, and this time when the kid looks at Brian, Brian doesn’t look away. Instead, he crooks his finger and the not-a-terrorist-after-all hipster walks three steps to the side of your love seat. Brian questions him in a way that you’ll appreciate more later, “Hi. Are you all right? My partner seems to think you’re--”  
  
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you guys. I was supposed to meet someone here. He ghosted me, apparently.”  
  
 _Ahhh, now I get his frustration._  
  
“You can come sit next to us,” you offer, and Brian immediately gives you a look of disagreement that you pretend not to see.  
  
“Are you sure?” your new friend asks.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
He walks over and you can smell his cologne as he sits next to you, and it’s not like any cologne that you smell on every man everywhere. It seems like it was made for him. It’s distinct but not overwhelming. Brian squeezes your shoulder like he wants your attention focused on the show and not the new guy, so the three of you sit quietly until the end when Eighty-Four finally is released from the bondage board, put on his back and fucked by Josh until he gets to come. Josh holds Matt’s cock and steers his load so it gets all over Matt’s face. Everyone immediately applauds; the rousing noise makes you jump in your seat.  
  
As the crowd breaks up, your new friend apologizes again for interrupting the two of you, and you tell him, “It’s okay. I just thought...well...I mean, sometimes you never know people--”  
  
“Tell me about it,” he bitches.  
  
Brian puts his hand on your thigh, “Dave wants to talk to me for a minute, okay?” He gets up, his hand extended.  
  
You don’t take the offer, Go ahead. I’ll be right there, okay?”  
  
Brian looks at you intently and then at your new friend and then back at you before he leans forward, extending his hand to the unknown person next to you, “Brian Kinney. And you are?”  
  
He shakes Brian’s hand; their arms passing in front of you, “My name is Dill. Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Will?” Brian asks.  
  
“Dill.”  
  
“Like the pickle?” Brian scrutinizes.  
  
“It’s a nickname. My last name is Dilworth. I go by Dill.”  
  
Brian shrugs, “Hmm, very interesting,” and then turns to you, I’ll come back for you in a minute then.”  
  
“Okay.” You turn to Dill, “I’m Justin.” And then you blurt out, “And we’re married,” pointing to the empty space Brian just occupied next to you.  
  
“I see your rings,” Dill says, “How long?”  
  
“Almost twenty years.”  
  
 _Why am I just blurting out info to this guy?_  
  
Dill’s brow furrows, “There’s no way, unless you--”  
  
“I’m older than I look.”  
  
“Okay, I get it. Nice collar. I mean, it’s real, isn’t it?”  
  
You start to feel nervous about answering all these collar questions, afraid that maybe someone will decide to kidnap you and steal it or something, but there’s no reason to lie to this guy because you are one hundred and ten percent certain that this kid comes from a lot of money. His level of personal grooming is astonishing. All of his fingernails are the exact same length, his eyebrows are waxed, and his beard is immaculate. His jeans are perfectly pegged. He looks like he may come from timber money or maybe straight from a photoshoot. You decide to ignore the collar question and steer the interview yourself, “I’ve never seen you around here before. Are you new in town?”  
  
 _Could I sound any more lame?_  
  
“Not exactly. I’m in school at Carnegie Mellon, my last year. I was supposed to meet someone here, so, yeah, first time in this place.”  
  
“What are you studying?”  
  
“Computational Biology.”  
  
You smile and nod like you know what that is and keep questioning him, “So what happened with this guy who ghosted you?”  
  
Dill sighs, his body too slight to hold the amount of disappointment he’s radiating. “I know it was probably bullshit, but I’ve been texting with this guy I met on an app for three weeks, and he was supposed to meet me here tonight.”  
  
“Oh. Do you know his name?”  
  
“No, we hadn’t exchanged real names. I have a picture he sent.”  
  
“Can I see it?”  
  
Dill opens his phone, pulls it up and hands it to you. The guys looks way too good to be real, but you don’t say that to your new friend. “Do you recognize him?” he asks you.  
  
You shake your head, “No. Seems kind of a big step to meet him here at a public dungeon. No coffee first?”  
  
“I get that, but I’m not looking for a boyfriend; I’m looking for a Dom. I’m tired of living my fantasies in my head.” He seems genuinely downhearted at the missed connection. “I thought he and I were connecting on that; I’d hoped it was real.” You get the distinct impression that Dill is not new to this scene, just to this exact situation. “There are even some groups on campus that I’ve been to, but everybody there is really young and just experimenting. I know what I want; at least, I feel like I do.”  
  
“Well, look on the bright side. You found a place with a bunch of Doms. That’s a good thing, right?”  
  
Dill hangs his head, “Yeah, I guess so, but I really had my hopes up which was so fucking stupid of me. I’m just going to get an Uber and go home. I’m not in a good place right now.”  
  
There’s something about this guy that draws you to him; he’s fully embodied and not putting on any front at all. He’s unabashedly human and it’s disarming. You’re more used to the game played up to the last minute. He’s not playing a game at all. It’s as if he’s never experienced that side of your kind. While you’ve been happily married, the gay culture has kept moving forward. Times have changed. He’s almost, in a weird way, somehow situationally virginal. “Can I see that picture again?” you ask him.  
  
“Yeah.” He hands you his phone again.  
  
You look up as Brian approaches you, turning Dill’s phone to face him, “Brian, do you recognize this guy?” you ask him.  
  
“Uh, no. Should I?”  
  
“He’s the guy that stood him up,” you clarify.  
  
“May I?” Brian asks, extending his hand for the phone. Dill nods, and Brian takes it and quickly turns it back around and shows Dill, “He’s nobody. That’s a stock photo. Just found it on the web. Google image search.”  
  
“Fuck,” Dill says, “Asshole.”  
  
“He was supposed to meet him here,” you press on, “They’ve been talking for weeks.”  
  
“Do you know his name?” Brian asks.  
  
“He said his first name is Joel, but I think that’s a lie. I didn’t tell him my real name.”  
  
“Okay, hang on.”  
  
Brian walks away with Dill’s phone and shows it to Josh and to Rusty (who reminds you of the Irish Spring guy but without actually _using_ the soap), and you watch as he exits the dungeon to probably find Dave. He’s back in mere seconds shaking his head. “No one knows a Joel or anyone that uses that stock photo. I’m sorry.” And then he turns to you, “I think Matt wants to say goodbye to you before he leaves. He’s in room three with Josh and the other guys. Go poke your head in and then we can go.”  
  
You look at Brian and then at Dill and decide you’ll just go really quickly and finish up with Matt. You turn to Dill before you get up, “Wait for me, okay? I’ll be right back.”  
  
Dill shakes his head, “No, it was nice to meet you, but I want to go home.”  
  
“You live in a dorm?” you ask him.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“We’ll give you a ride,” you offer, your voice going up one octave and speeding up for no good reason, “I mean, I promise we’re not psychos or anything, and clearly, you aren’t a psycho, so just let us, okay?” What follows is a moment of uncertainty that you know Brian will figure out and get up to speed because Brian’s lightning fast in social interactions. You’re just afraid that Dill will leave anyway, and even though you’re not sure exactly why, you just don’t want him to go just yet. Brian zooms up to your speed just like you knew he would, “We’d love to give you a ride,” he agrees, “You’ve had a rough night.”  
  
“Okay, well, thanks,” Dill says, “It’s like twenty minutes from here.”  
  
“No problem. I’ll be right back,” you declare, walking with an embarrassing urgency to find Matt, pat him on the head, and get the hell out of Release. When you find Matt in room three, the look on his face tells you that you were right about his experience. He looks high as a kite and is surrounded by Josh, Rusty, Rusty’s body odor, and two other Doms. He waves at you and welcomes you into his personal post-orgy love fest. You beg off, “I can’t, I can’t, but I’m glad you had a good time. You look like the happiest person in the world.”  
  
“It was amazing, and being watched, I really liked the crowd. I might be cut out for this.”  
  
“You are,” Josh says, “Trust me, you are.”  
  
“We’re on our way out, but it was good to meet you and I hope you enjoy your...slavery... here.” They all laugh as you back out of the room, pulling the door closed behind you. You turn around and Brian is standing right behind you. It startles you and you scream a little, “Ah! What the fuck?”  
  
“His mom called and he answered it,” Brian says pointing through the open dungeon door. Dill is on the loveseat deep in conversation. “I mean, who answers their Mom’s call in a gay sex dungeon?” Brian asks you.  
  
“He’s a senior at Carnegie Mellon in Computational Biology,” you say.  
  
“What the fuck is that?” Brian asks.  
  
“I don’t know. Google it.”  
  
Brian takes your hand and pulls you into Dave’s office which is barely lit and empty. “You need to tell me what we’re doing with him.”  
  
“I’m not sure yet,” you admit.  
  
“Okay. What does that mean?”  
  
“He came here to meet some Dom who ghosted him. He’s been talking, like, intensely to this guy for three weeks, and he is really upset that his night fell through.”  
  
“Okay, that’s nice, but it didn’t answer my question. What are we doing, Justin?”  
  
“Can’t we just get him in the car and then decide?” you try with a cute shrug.  
  
“Are we a couple of bumbling serial killers here or what? Stop being obtuse with me.”  
  
“I don’t know. I like him, okay. There’s something about him. He’s….he’s...well, he’s very cute. He’s clearly wealthy--”  
  
“Justin, spit it out.”  
  
“I want to take him to the loft.”  
  
“Against his will?” Brian asks you with an incredulous look on his face.  
  
“God, no. I just think we should talk to him, get to know him a little better, if he wants. He’s an old soul or something, Brian. I feel like I’ve known him forever. It’s really kind of weird.”  
  
“When you met me, did you get the same feeling you have now?”  
  
“No, not at all.”  
  
Brian nods, studying your face, “Okay, so this isn’t some overwhelming sexual attraction you feel?”  
  
“No. I mean, I don’t know what it is. I just feel like we need to stay close to him tonight.”  
  
Brian fondles the stubble on his chin and then walks the perimeter of the small office before he speaks, “Then go get him and let’s talk to him together. I don’t want to put him in our car and start driving unless we know what we’re doing...or at least have some idea.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll go get him. Wait here.”  
  
***********  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
You aren’t exactly sure what Justin’s up to with this guy, but he’s obviously committed to the next step of getting his body into your car. You put Dill through his paces when he gets back to the office with Justin; you ask some questions, ask to see his ID to determine his age. He’s twenty-two and apparently took a ‘back-pack-around-Europe’ tour after high school and started college late. Justin’s probably right that he’s wealthy. Then you zero in on what was supposed to happen with his no-show hook up. “You were going to meet him here and then go where?” you ask him. You just want to see if his story changes at all.  
  
By now, Dill is sitting in a chair fixing the laces on his boots. “I figured we’d go to his place or a hotel. I wasn’t really sure.”  
  
“And he hasn’t texted you back at all tonight?”  
  
Dill looks defeated, “No, his profile is gone. He’s gone. It was all bullshit probably.”  
  
 _Ah, yes. The harrowing tale of the kinky catfisher._  
  
Justin’s standing behind Dill and giving you a look like _enough already Law & Order: SVU._ You take Justin’s cue and sit down yourself making eye contact with your new friend. “Would you be interested in going home with us tonight?” Dill’s eyebrows go up; he’s curious. “I mean, not our home home, but we have a place here about five minutes away, and if you’re game, we’d like to spend some time with you or, if not, we understand, and we’ll drive you back to campus.” You sit back and wait for his answer. You’re struck by how much times have changed. Twenty years ago, you would never spend this much time getting a guy to go home with you. Hell, all you had to do was sort of nod to someone, and he’d just get right in your car and pull down his pants. Now you’re checking his ID and considering whether to pull him up on _Ancestry_ to verify his lineage.  
  
Dill looks at Justin who’s now standing beside you and then back at you inquiring, “What would we do?”  
  
Justin responds, “What would you like to do? We’re flexible.”  
  
“I wasn’t expecting this,” Dill says, and you believe him. He seems inoculated against the constant pick up game of homosexual men. You’ve never seen a fag this thoughtful about carnal activities in person.  
  
Justin keeps going, determined, “We weren’t either, but we like you.”  
  
“Can we get something to eat first? I am absolutely famished.”  
  
Justin looks over at you and then back at Dill, “Sure. It’s late but the diner’s still open. Sound good?”  
  
“Anything, honestly, I was nervous and I think I forgot to eat,” your new friend confesses.  
  
“Great!” Justin exclaims, slipping his hand in yours. “Let’s go.”  
  
***********  
The Liberty diner crowd of today is not the one of yesteryear. No one here recognizes you or will admit that they’re old enough to. Once the three of you are seated in a booth, you can really see how much of a different species your new companion is. He’s a young gay man who has not one but two sexual prospects in front of him, and he’s more concerned with unrolling his silverware and setting his side of the table complete with a napkin on his lap. You figure out that Justin is the bridge between your two worlds when you open your menus. “Wow,” Justin says, “The menu hasn’t even changed.” Then he breaks it to a man named after a pickle that there is no kale or quinoa or acai bowl on the premises. “Just standard diner food. Hope it’s okay.”  
  
“It’s fine.” Your wait person arrives and you and Justin order sandwiches. Dill orders a banana split with chocolate sauce on the side. His dinner order alone validates your gut instinct to check his ID. As soon as Justin hears what Dill orders, he changes his sandwich to a banana split too. Justin glances at you, and you shake your head, “It’s way too late for ice cream.”  
  
“Or it’s early enough,” Justin postulates.  
  
“I still want a sandwich,” you clarify.  
  
The waitress asks you, “Comes with chips and a pickle. That okay?”  
  
“Sure,” you grin, “I’d love a pickle.” Dill laughs and rolls his eyes.  
  
While waiting for your food, you interrogate him a little more. How many guys has he been with? Less than ten, he says. Does he use condoms? Always except with his first high school boyfriend, but that was years ago. Does he get tested regularly? Of course he does. Justin is digging his fingernail into your leg because he wants you to stop. He apologizes for you, “Please don’t mind Brian. He’s from a different era. You know, the Jurassic.”  
  
Dill laughs, his golden-flecked green eyes wide, and then he looks at you, straight at _you,_ and replies, “That’s okay. I like that. It’s nice.” It’s an intentional, direct communication between you and him. It made you feel more like a _me_ than a _we_...but in an interesting way...one that begins to percolate a new thought in the back of your mind…  
  
Your food is served, and Dill remarks while holding a giant spoonful of ice cream, “I think I’m eating my feelings tonight.”  
  
Justin digs into his sundae, and assures Dill, “Your feelings are delicious.”  
  
They smile at each other and you wonder…  
  
 _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_


	34. Negotiations 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/6/20-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 35**  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Food at the loft consists only of a bulk buy of snack size salted peanuts from at least a year ago, whiskey and beer. Dill’s impressed with the place, and he accepts your offer of a drink. You and Justin join him. Justin steers Dill to the far end of your large sofa and you to the chair right next to it. He sits on the other end, a cushion between him and what’s admittingly beginning to feel like prey. “Take off your shoes and just relax,” Justin tells him, so he does, lining his boots up perfectly beneath your glass coffee table. Justin kicks his shoes off too but with far less intentionality, of course, one landing beneath the coffee table and two feet away. He tucks his legs underneath him. You’re refilling Dill’s whiskey glass when Justin asks him, “I’m interested in what you were hoping for tonight. Maybe you can share that with us?”  
  
Dill laughs a little through his nose and looks down at his glass as he answers, “I was hoping to at least get laid. I did a lot of, um, prep work for tonight.”  
  
“I think that can be arranged,” Justin affirms, “Want to expand on that a little? You seemed very invested in the plans you had that fell through.” You watch Justin as he does this soft interrogation, impressed with how measured he is, how much sensitivity he employs with your guest.  
  
Dill repositions himself on the sofa, his ankle resting on his knee. “I mean..to be honest, I don’t _just_ want to get laid. It’s nice and I wouldn’t turn it down, but I need more than that to get any real pleasure. I have to give up control.”  
  
You interject, “You’re awfully young to already know that about yourself.”  
  
“I’ve known it all my life. It’s just who I am. I know what I need.”  
  
Justin, as it now becomes overwhelmingly clear to you, is taking this assignment very seriously. He displays the urgency of a multi-level marketing rep who knows they’ve got someone on the hook for at least the executive starter set. “So do you have a safeword?” he asks.  
  
“Flamingo,” Dill says, “Please don’t laugh.”  
  
“We won’t,” Justin assures him, “We use birds. Brian’s is Pelican and mine is Albatross.”   
  
“Well, that’s kind of freaky,” Dill offers, “Maybe we’re birds of a feather then. Sorry, dumb joke.” The three of you laugh.  
  
Justin picks it right back up, “Is there anything else you’d like us to know? Is there anything that’s off limits?”  
  
Dill confesses to both of you, speaking plainly, “I have a medical kink, but who doesn’t? But not the whole body fluids part.”  
  
“Understood. We don’t piss on people,” Justin confirms. “Anything else that’s absolutely off limits? Are you okay with pain, humiliation--”  
  
“It has become clear to me that I live for it,” Dill admits as if he’s confessing to a cold case murder. This kid is so serious, it’s downright fascinating.  
  
You need this interview to wrap up before Justin starts having Dill diagram all the sexual positions he consents to. You clear your throat and your guest turns toward you as you explain, “We also use red, yellow, green as check ins if needed.”  
  
“Sounds perfect.”  
  
You lean forward, your elbows on your knees, as you address your new acquaintance, “I’d like you to go across the room and kneel in that far corner. Face the wall and keep your eyes on the floor. Justin and I are going to talk for a minute.”  
  
“Yes, Sir. My pleasure.”  
  
You watch him get off the sofa, his eyes scanning the space for the correct corner. You nod when he points to the correct one. He moves methodically and kneels as instructed. “Thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure, Sir.”  
  
Justin’s grinning like a fool as he slides down the sofa to where Dill was sitting. The level of excitement on his face is akin to a child winning enough skeeball tickets to take home the enormous teddy bear, the one you think is full of stuffing until you actually win it, take it home and realize that it shits styrofoam beads all over your fucking house. He leans over the arm of the sofa in your direction. “Brian, thank you for this. I’m excited.”  
  
“I can tell. You’re glowing like you’re pregnant.”  
  
“Ha, ha.”  
  
“He’s very young, and he could be all talk, so I’m going to take over from here.”  
  
Justin ponders your statement for a few seconds and then leans in and kisses you, “Okay.”  
  
You stand up, “Come with me,” taking Justin’s hand and leading him over to the corner where Dill is waiting. “Just a few more minutes,” you say to the back of his head, “And I’ll come get you.”  
  
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”  
  
***********  
You climb the steps to your room, and once inside, you close the panels. You pull Justin close to kiss him, to taste the crazy energy on his tongue. He has an aura of static electricity all around him. You unbutton his pants and slide your hand inside his underwear. He’s, of course, hard as a rock; he rests his head against your chest as you stroke him. You run your other hand up his back and into his hair, making a fist and tugging a little to get his full attention. “Listen to me. You’re going to do what I say, understand?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“If there are limits you want to set like you did for Josh, you need to tell me now.”  
  
Justin’s quiet for a few seconds, and then he admits, “I don’t have any.”  
  
You laugh a little, “I figured that. That’s fine. We’ll just check in as we go.”  
  
“Are you sure?” he asks.  
  
“Yes, it’s fine with me. I want you to get what you want...eventually.” Justin moans ever so slightly, his body relaxing against you as your palm gets wet. “If you need to check in with me, use colors. If you use your safeword, we stop everything and end it, and he goes home.”  
  
“Okay, that’s fine with me. Do you have limits though? Things you don’t want to happen?” Justin asks.  
  
The buzzing air whirling around the two of you as you teeter on the brink of this experience stops suddenly like a game of freeze tag. Justin looks up at you in that vulnerable way he’s mastered, his eyes searching yours. “Brian?” he asks again.  
  
He’s cracked the moment with his question; you sigh which makes him comfort you, his palm rubbing your breastbone inside the buttons of your shirt. This night feels nothing like the experience the two of you just had with Josh. That threesome was organically defined and fit into perfect ruts in your dynamic with Justin, ruts worn smooth from years and years of steady, well, thrusting seems like the best word.  
  
This new experience is slicker than a virgin ice skating rink. The energy is literally everywhere and anchored to nothing, like a dozen bright red balloons flying free full of helium and pop rocks. You kiss him to stall for time.  
  
“Talk to me,” he says, “Please.”  
  
“Okay,” you concede, deciding to just be honest and motive-less, “I’m not sure what this is. I really like it, but it’s a little freaky. It’s fun and seeing you this excited, it turns me on.” You want to please him and protect him at the same time, but you keep that part to yourself.  
  
“Like the first night you brought me here,” he says into your chest.  
  
“Okay, yeah. But I had more control that night.”  
  
“You were buck naked and high as a fucking kite, and you think that was control?”  
  
“Okay, valid point.” But then you see a similarity from that night in your mind’s eye: you don’t want him to leave unsatisfied. And then you realize that that sentiment has cloned itself and now applies to Justin and Dill. “He’s young, okay? Very young.”  
  
Justin grins at you, “He’s five years older than when you brought me here, and he’s not a virgin.”  
  
“He just feels so brand new,” you confess.  
  
Justin’s fingers tap on your sternum as he speaks, “He’s giving us that. He’s giving up control; he trusts us, at least so far.”  
  
“It’s undefined, amorphous.”  
  
“It’s confined to this loft and this moment, to tonight, to right now.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Justin stares at you, his eyes boring into your skull as he speaks, “I’m not used to you being nervous. This is new.”  
  
“I’m not nervous,” you defend.  
  
“Then what am I sensing?”  
  
You think for a few seconds until you can articulate it, “Okay, you know when you play an old arcade game and you have to time how you jump over obstacles and shit?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m used to that. But they’re gone. There are no obstacles. I can’t feel your headspace. All I feel is space itself.”  
  
Justin absorbs what you tell him; he swallows like it’s on it’s way to his digestive system, and then he says, “I trust you with this. You trust me. There’s no map but it’s okay to wander around and just see where we end up, okay?” You shrug your shoulders in passive but genuine acceptance. Then he adds, “You can still wear your mining helmet. Just be okay with turning off the light. It’s shining too bright in my face, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Let’s do this.”  
  
You nod as your spine stiffens, “I meant what I said; we do this my way tonight.”  
  
“Okay, that’s fine.”  
  
“Good. I want you to get undressed, take everything off but your collar.”  
  
He seems surprised, “Huh? Right now?”  
  
“Yes, right now.”  
  
Justin steps back from you to perform the task, folding his clothes and setting them on a dresser without being asked. You steer him to the top right corner of the bed. “Sit down.”  
  
“Kneel?”  
  
“Yes, kneel.” You push the pillows out of his way. Your restraints are stored under your side of the bed, so you leave Justin for a minute and poke your head out to check on your next appointment. “You okay?” you ask Dill who looks like he’s frozen in place.  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“It won’t be much longer,” you assure him.  
  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
  
You retrieve your wrist and ankle cuffs and the chain that connects them and then make your way back to Justin. As you attach the cuffs, Justin figures out what’s happening. He understands that he will be kneeling with his wrists hooked to his ankles with no real slack to move. “You comfortable enough?” you ask him when you’re done.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Keep your knees apart so I can see your cock.” Justin looks down at his hardened dick and then back up at you, a helpless expression on his face that you have to respond to, “Did you think I would let him inside our dynamic without a thorough demonstration of who he ultimately answers to?”  
  
Justin looks down and shakes his head. “No,” comes out in a hush.  
  
You lift his chin with your finger, “I am getting you what you want. You need to trust me.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Good,” you confirm as you let him see the ball gag you’re hiding in the sheets. He’s instantly distressed and says, “No, please don’t do that.”  
  
“Open your mouth.”  
  
He tries again, “Brian, please. I don’t want that.”  
  
You sigh and repeat yourself, “Open your mouth. If I have to ask you again, I will punish you in front of him.”  
  
Justin’s eyes are dark and steely as he allows you to fasten the gag. Once the task is complete, you whisper in his ear, “ _Thank you for being a good boy.”_ His only response is to look away.  
  
He’ll survive.


	35. Negotiations 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/27/20-Originally published  
> Another reminder that we are catching up to my real time writing of this story so updates will take longer in a bit.

**NEGOTIATIONS 36  
BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Your first order of business is to change the lighting in the loft to shift the mood and calm any nerves, including a few of your own. You leave a light on over the island in the kitchen and one in the bathroom. Along with the light that’s already over the bed, it’s sufficient. Then you sit on the steps to your bedroom so that both Justin and Dill can hear you. “Dill, you can stand up and come over to me.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
  
Dill gets up, his young body unaffected by kneeling on a hardwood floor for fifteen minutes; you watch as his socked feet take the steps required to meet you at the stairs. He sees a shadowed Justin on your bed and Justin offers the slightest wave from a cuffed hand and a gagged smile. Beyond that struggling smile, Justin’s expression is mostly blank, a giveaway that a lot’s happening beneath the surface, but he’s not your main task right now. This new guy is. You explain, “He’s a little miffed at me right now.” You continue from your seated position, “Justin and I have had plenty of men back to this place over the years but never a slave or a submissive. He’s very taken with you, and I’m getting there--.” Dill displays a curious smile, like a tiny bolt of electricity zig-zagged through his lips and then disappeared. “Tonight, I want to see what you can offer us and what we can offer you, and one way or another, I promise you’ll leave here satisfied.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that, Sir.” The sanitized respect he offers you, so brand new, is invigorating; it feels like a bit of a lightning bolt in your spine. “May I ask a question?” Dill asks you.  
  
“You may.”  
  
“So Justin is a switch?”  
  
You grin and look back at your blond partner all bound and deliriously horny and tell him, “You can answer him.”  
  
Justin shrugs his shoulders in affirmation as it’s the only response his restricted body can really pull off. You cover for Justin while trying not to laugh at his frustration, “He’s a little preoccupied right now. All the blood in his head has run to his dick.”  
  
Dill responds, “I would like to spend time with both of you in any way that...either of you...would ...like.”  
  
“Well, good. That’s what we want to hear. Get undressed. I want to look at you.”  
  
Dill’s face blushes quickly and fades, something you’ve never seen someone do quite so quickly. He obliges you and peels off his clothes piece by piece, folding them precisely and sitting them on a bench next to him. He stands nude in front of you, his cock eager, beading and bouncing in your face. Physically, he’s average size, but there’s a beauty in him that is completely divorced from his body itself; he has that in common with Justin. You have a few more questions for him and you want Justin to have to wait a little longer. Your fingers, spread wide, run down his chest. He’s fit the way young guys who don’t workout are but not overly so. He sucks his stomach in as you touch him. “Kneel down in front of me,” you say, and Dill obeys. You lean forward, a bit above him from your seated position on the steps to the bedroom. “You said you’ve known you were submissive your entire life. Explain that.”  
  
“May I look at you, Sir?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Dill’s earnest expression gives way to his explanation, “I’ve known that I was submissive before I knew I was gay. I’m sure that seems weird to you.”  
  
“Kind of, yes, go on.”  
  
“I’ve had masochistic urges since I was at least ten; I didn’t realize I was gay until I was seventeen.”  
  
“Okay. Continue.” He seems prepared to tell this story, like perhaps you’re going to see it on _Dateline_ in a few weeks.  
  
“When I was young, I would play with my friends, like the good guys/bad guys stuff kids do, I always wanted to be the good guy who got kidnapped and tortured and stuff. I never wanted to be the perpetrator, just the victim.”  
  
You huff a laugh, “Well, that’s interesting. I thought your generation grew up with phones and tablets for friends.”  
  
“My parents were strict about screen time.”  
  
“Good for them.”  
  
“Only my friends didn’t want to play that out. Like, they’d kidnap me but then leave to fight each other. No one would stay behind and torture me.”  
  
“Well, they were clearly not your real friends, then.”  
  
“I appreciate your humor, Sir, but I assure you that I am not trying to be funny. It was very frustrating for me and it wasn’t something I could really talk to anyone about.”  
  
“I understand that.” This kid is dead-as-a-heart-attack serious. You’re beginning to wonder if there’s a hidden camera somewhere and you’re _on Dateline_ right now. Maybe Chris Hansen is hiding in your fucking closet.  
  
“When I was sixteen, I got a new car and a wad of cash for my birthday, so I found a dominatrix on the internet and paid for a couple of sessions.”  
  
This kid is fearless. “Okay, and what happened?”  
  
“Well, it was okay. I guess I’m pretty good at eating pussy; I can get the job done. When I was leaving my last session, a male dom came into the space because he was going to use it next with his client, and I guess my domme saw my enthusiasm at his presence and she got me a session with him for the next week.”  
  
“Well, that was nice of her.”  
  
“My session with him was so amazing, I cried in my car when it was over. I called her to thank her and after I told her how much I liked it, she said, ‘You’re gay. You realize that right?’ and I said I wasn’t sure, and she said my masochism was hiding it a little. She told me to ‘try it on’ for a week, to consider myself a gay man and see how I felt.”  
  
“And how did you feel?”  
  
“Like I’d been gay all my life and was just distracted.”  
  
You look over your shoulder at Justin, and even in his restricted state, he’s affected by Dill’s story. They share a particular type of fierce bravery, and you wonder if that’s occurring to Justin. He nods at Dill, and Dill smiles and blushes again. “That’s the most fascinating coming out story I’ve ever heard.” Dill looks down at the floor so you put your finger under his chin and lift his eyes back to yours, “I’m not mocking you. I promise. I believe you. Thanks for sharing that with us.”  
  
He looks relieved, “Thank you for clarifying, Sir.”  
  
“Stand up,” you order.  
  
“My pleasure, Sir.”  
  
“C’mon. I think Justin is tired of waiting,” you say as you stand up and offer your hand to your naked new friend, “Let’s have some fun.”  
  
Dill follows you to Justin’s side of the bed. You sit down near Justin and remove your shirt. You motion for Dill to join you; he’s to kneel in front of Justin while you kneel behind him. You run your hand up Justin’s bare back to his neck as you address your new toy, “Touch him, get to know him,” you instruct. Justin’s head feels heavier in your hand as you remind Dill about colors and safe words and that Justin is clearly not able to speak at the moment, “So find a different way to communicate with him.”  
  
“Yes, Sir. But may I speak to him?”  
  
“Absolutely,” you confirm, “Please do.”  
  
************  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
You’ve been this kind of nervous in this bedroom before many, many years ago, and that sense memory comes roaring back now, a sizzling, unpredictable excitement: all the possibilities, all the opportunities, all the adrenaline.  
  
All the drool…  
  
It’s seeping out of your mouth and running down your chin. This isn’t how you wanted to introduce yourself to Dill. At all. Nevertheless, you like this feeling of being in the middle--spatially, age wise, and even generationally. You feel a weird camaraderie with Dill just from hearing that one story. It wasn’t the story itself but more a comfortable relief to be around someone who isn’t afraid to be unguarded.  
  
Dill’s chest is in front of yours as you kneel facing each other, Brian’s body hovering almost possessively behind you. There are some tufts of hair on his chest and around his nipples. You want to touch them, tug gently on the brown strands and gauge his reaction, but you can’t. Dill puts his hands on your shoulders and leans in so you lower your head. He whispers in your ear, “ _Thank you for making this happen_.” You smile despite your gag and nod, ever-conscious of Brian’s presence. Dill kisses your shoulder and then your neck, and then looks at you for the longest second before he kisses you, gag accepted like it’s just part of what it means to kiss you, during which Brian’s arms encircle both of you, effectively caging Dill where he is.  
  
On the second kiss, in a gesture of intimacy, he flicks his tongue all around your mouth licking up the saliva you’ve regretfully abandoned. He’s trying to care for you, to make you comfortable. And then he continues his work down your neck to your chest, and you moan to acknowledge the attraction between you, the barely kept secret exposed. His fingertips graze past your nipple which is still sore from your earlier activities. Then Dill’s hand roams to your stomach, his fingertips dipping lower and lower, “I’ve never touched someone who’s been waxed. I like the way you feel, so smooth.” You thank him with a heavy nod. You feel faint, woozy, and he reads you well; he moves in closer and holds you against him. You hear yourself purr when he strokes your hair. He talks to you in a reassuring tone, “So far, this is better than any expectation I had for tonight. I like you...a lot.”  
  
You like that, that he likes you. The feeling is mutual.  
  
You moan as you feel Brian holding the two of you together. He’s quietly radiating tacit permission for this to happen…, for this to get heated.  
  
 _Some sandwiches are just meat and bread, but this is becoming more like an artisanal grilled cheese sandwich left in the pan to burn._  
  
You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, and Brian’s mouth on the back of your neck. His hot breath opens your pores in real time. Dill touches your cock and plants a kiss on your shoulder before delivering the message, “You’re leaking.”  
  
Brian confirms his observation, “He’s making a mess.” You imagine a puddle forming around you brimming with pre-cum and drool. The fainter you feel, the more substantial Brian feels behind you; sometimes his arm loops around your waist to keep you from dissolving. Even though you can’t speak, he knows exactly what’s happening to you. He knows there’s nothing underneath you anymore save the shallow warm pool you’re filling up and floating on.  
  
Even in an experience as new as this one, Brian’s completely dialed into your mainframe. He knows where you are on your continuum. Somehow, he always knows.  
  
With Brian’s guidance, Dill touches your cock. They stroke you together; Brian setting the pace and the pressure. But still, you can’t speak. You can’t move save leaning backward onto Brian which draws Dill forward like your bodies are on a pulley system. Brian instructs him to move back and little, tipping you forward a little. “Hold him for a second,” he tells Dill, and you can hear Brian shuffling behind you, getting out of his jeans. You feel the warmth of his thighs as he rights you and brings you back to a ninety degree angle before telling you, “Show our new friend how much you enjoy sitting on a cock.” You’ve sat in this exact position hundreds of times in this very bed, but this time you feel special, proud that you’re the one who gets to sit on this cock like you’re on display. The pleasure of conquering this familiar obstacle, of letting Brian fill you right in front of him, excites you as a determined but muffled moan escapes from your throat. You want to arch your back to ride the wave of pleasure pulsing through you but you can’t because your hands are still cuffed to your ankles. Brian’s fingertips start toying with your nipples, purposely pinching them. He commands Dill’s attention, instructing him, “He likes nipple play; suck on these as hard as you can.”  
  
Dill performs the task he’s given, oblivious to the pain he’s causing. Brian whispers behind your head, “ _Don’t think about the pain; think about how full your bottom is.”_  
  
Then he pushes Dill’s head down to your cock, and Brian takes over the nipple torture. You try to move your hips a little to thrust into Dill’s mouth. Brian likes what you’re doing; he bites your shoulder and growls a little. There’s a frustration building inside you as you tire of not being able to speak or touch or move around. As if Brian is aware of your inner thoughts, your ball gag is suddenly set free. Dill moves quickly, seizing the opportunity to grab it and toss it aside so he can really kiss you. His lips are so soft; he tastes urgently sweet. He’s intent on finding the attraction you have for him and coaxing it to the surface. Then, the three of you kiss, something that was born in the moment, hot and hungry. Brian maneuvers you for friction, making you bounce a little, and your moans get louder and more urgent as you release them into Dill’s mouth. He swallows them whole. Brian’s melting down behind you, his fingers tearing through your hair, “You should study him,” he tells Dill, “Because he is a perfect piece of ass. His body was designed to be pounded into oblivion.”  
  
You can speak now but you don’t know what to say to that, and Brian’s moving on. Dill crab walks backwards in the sheets as Brian shoves your forward, your face in the sheets. As Dill gets his bearings, Brian yanks a fistful of your hair up, your face hovering in front of Dill’s spread legs. “Open your slutty little mouth and welcome him to our home, Justin.”  
  
His smooth cock first tastes like powder or ivory soap, that scent dissipating as he sweats and moans, now on his back as you suck him, as Brian fucks you, as you surrender to just being the meat they share between them, content to rut into the sheets all in the vein of being a good host and a sex starved whore.  
  
Their whore.  
  
 _Jesus, fuck._  
  
“Dill, you come when I tell you too, understand?” Brian says.  
  
Your guest pants, “Yes, Sir.”  
  
Brian signals when he feels you reaching the top of your mountain, a process happening on a completely physical level as your mind is cleaved from your body. Brian groans as he empties inside you, and Dill trembles head to toe as he shoots. His teeth even chatter. His cum is thick and tastes like spun sugar. Brian’s body is a heavy plank on top of you, but you feel him uncuffing you even as you’re pretty sure the rest of him is completely incapacitated. With your hands and feet finally free, you reach for Dill and lay your face on his stomach, your arms draped in a lazy hug. He pets your hair which feels soaking wet to you. He puts his hand on your face, his finger running up and down your cheekbone. Your eyes finally meet, and he says, “Hi.”  
  
“Hi,” you say with a smile.  
  
Dill questions you, “What do we do for an encore if we all three just came at once on our first try?”  
  
Brian laughs on top of you, “I think we opened a wormhole or something.”  
  
“We have all the holes we can handle at the moment,” you announce.  
  
Brian wags his finger in the air, “Dill, aside from being the perfect fuck, Justin is also one hell of a buzz kill when he wants to be.”  
  
“Yes, Sir, but he’s handsome and so sweet, so it’s bearable,” Dill lobs back.  
  
It’s so nice to be appreciated.


	36. Negotiations 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7/1/20-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 37**

****BRIAN’S POV**  
  
** Post coitally, you and Justin flank either side of your bed with Dill lying between you on a fraying gray towel covering up where Justin ejaculated. You hover like a vulture now, ready to pick over this carcass you’ve conquered with your partner in crime. But Dill’s no carcass to Justin; he’s hidden treasure.  
  
“Turn on a light,” Justin instructs you, “I want to look him over.”  
  
You perform the task, a subtle acknowledgement that the power dynamic has shifted a bit. You’re intrigued and a little uneasy at the same time. You’ve never seen Justin quite like this: clad in only his diamond collar and power. True to form, he’s fearless as usual, taking on this new role of grooming your orgy addition with confidence. You try to be helpful where you can while also attempting to stay in the background a bit because you feel confident that you’ve made your ranking in this threesome very clear. Also, you would rather your new young friend pay zero attention to the amount of time it takes you to get it up again after round one. Justin pets Dill like he’s a favorite hound who’s come home after being lost for a week. There’s a ridiculous amount of conversation as well. Justin resumes his interview-palooza: tracing Dill’s pink lips with his fingertip, “Young man, you are very cute.” He nods. “When was the last someone fucked you?” Justin asks.  
  
“Almost two months ago,” he replies. You hold a finger pistol up and mime shooting yourself in the head as you find that kind of dry spell a bit unimaginable. Dill laughs and smiles up at you as Justin continues, “And when was the last time you submitted to someone?”  
  
“The same, almost two months ago.”  
  
He reassures him, “By the time you leave here tonight, you’ll be glad that asshole stood you up.”  
  
He smiles, “I already am, Sir.” It seems inevitable that there will be ‘Sir’ confusion at some point.  
  
“When was the last time you came?”  
  
“A few minutes ago, remember?” he asks Justin.  
  
“Very funny. Before that.”  
  
“This morning.”  
  
“In anticipation of your date?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
You make a sing-songy comment under your breath, “This...is...why..I...gagged...you.”  
  
“Hush,” Justin scolds you. Dill grins and playfully slaps your chest. You grab both of his wrists and hold them above his head. Firmly. You share some information you’re gleaning by having your fingers around his pulse, “His heart is racing.”  
  
Justin sneaks an almost-evil grin at you, “Thanks.”  
  
“Anytime,” you assure him.  
  
Justin resumes his interrogation, “How familiar are you with the concept of subspace?”  
  
You roll your eyes before asking, “You know, why keep him in our bed when we could tie him to a chair in front of the computer and have him write his dissertation?”  
  
“That computer, over there?” Justin points, “That computer is older than--”  
  
You interrupt, “I take it back. I take it _all_ back.”  
  
“Good,” Justin says after having dispensed with your antics, “Dill, answer my question.”  
  
“I’ve been there,” he states with little confidence.  
  
“What got you there?” Justin asks.  
  
“Um, my brain. I don’t mean that in a sarcastic way--” This kid cannot tell a lie.  
  
“You mean that you take yourself there, right?” Justin questions.  
  
“Yes. I’m tired of that. I don’t want to go alone all the time.”  
  
You look at Justin’s face after Dill makes this statement and watch intently as his pupils widen and his nostrils flare a little. “Do you fuck yourself?” Justin asks him, “With your fingers or a dildo or anything?”  
  
“Sometimes, Sir. Again, the alone part is what I don’t enjoy. I mean, I have to play both parts in my head so it gets a little tedious.”  
  
You laugh a little and Justin does too, “I appreciate how honest you are with us. Smart decision on your part.” This kid is honest with everybody; you’d almost put money on it.  
  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
  
Justin smiles at him but his focus changes, “Roll over for me.” You release Dill’s hands so he can roll onto his stomach. Justin runs his hand over Dill’s shoulders and then down his back but he’s actually looking at you. “I need an inventory of what we have here,” he requests.  
  
You, once a renowned and worshipped God on Liberty Ave and its surrounding thoroughfares, are now merely an errand boy, but you get over that, nod, roll to the side of the bed and open a drawer. You hold up various items and Justin nods to lube and gloves. Dill sees none of it, his head turned the other way.  
  
Justin lays down beside Dill to have a more intimate discussion. You lower yourself as well. He starts by asking him a question, “How does it feel...knowing that you’re at our mercy?”  
  
“Like I won the lottery, Sir.”  
  
Justin’s eyebrows flex, “You did. I’m going to examine you now, make sure that what you have to offer is what we need.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir. I want to meet any standard you require.”  
  
Justin kisses him, slowly and in a way that makes you physically jealous because you know what that feels like, and when he sees the look on your face, he stops and pulls you in and kisses you the same way, sending you a clear message that you should get over yourself, you’re a part of this and he wants you here. Justin hooks a leg over Dill’s holding him in place so you do the same on your side, the two of you essentially holding him hostage face down in your bed. He begins to inspect Dill from head to toe, commenting on his hair, his skin, his few defined muscles, his fuckability. “I want to understand what you need from us, but we’re going to take what we need first. Sound good?” Justin asks Dill.  
  
“Hell yes, Sir.”  
  
You interrupt, “Use your colors at any time if you need to stop or slow down.”  
  
“I’ve never been this green in my entire life,” Dill responds.  
  
“Good,” you tell him, stroking his back with your hand.  
  
Justin puts on a glove and dispenses lube in the cleft of Dill’s ass. He gasps a little as Justin runs his hand over the gel and teases Dill with his fingers. “Have you ever been fisted?” Justin asks him.  
  
“No, Sir.”  
  
“That’s not happening right now,” you caution both of them what with all the fisting accidents of late.  
  
“Tell me what it feels like though, please,” Dill requests.  
  
Justin thinks for a minute before he answers, “You know how you feel when a thick cock is fucking the shit out of you?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“And how you feel right when you’re about to come?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, it feels like someone put tiny sticks of dynamite inside your cum that explode when you shoot, like there’s fireworks going off if your balls.”  
  
“In a good way?” Dill asks.  
  
“Yes, in an amazing rush. It’s an endorphin dump, too. You can fly if you want.”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
You wonder if your experience being fisted matches that description or if you just weren’t in that frame of mind. You conclude that Justin’s ass is probably harboring some sort of super-power due to all the mileage on it because that explanation makes the most sense.  
  
“You’re as tight as I’d imagined you’d be,” Justin tells him as he touches him, and then he looks at you, his eyes drawing yours to the extra glove laying in the sheets. Dill’s thanking him when your hand joins Justin’s. You push your finger in beside Justin’s, and your captive makes a sound so desperate, you can feel it in your cock. You work together fingering him and stretching him, and Dill moves his hips as much as he can in his current position, his head buried in his crossed arms. “Ask for what you want, Dill,” Justin requests.  
  
“More, please.”  
  
Justin makes it clear that he wants you to take over for a minute, and he meets Dill face to face again, kisses him, stroking his hair which has finally begun to look a little messy, “‘More’ is not specific. It tells me nothing. Tell me what you want.” You watch their faces like you’re watching a high stakes tennis match because you’re part of this conversation, too, just not in a vocal way at the moment. Dill tries again, “Sir, this feels so good. I don’t know what else to say.”  
  
“Okay, then I’m going to decide for you,” Justin tells him.  
  
Dill seems relieved, “Thank you, Sir.”  
  
And in the sweetest voice, his lips just inches from Dill’s face, Justin tells him, “Brian’s going to milk you and when he’s done with you, I’m going to fuck you.” You make note of your new assignment.  
  
Dill replies, “Okay, I don’t know what that means, milking.”  
  
Justin seems pleased that Dill’s a bit uninformed as it allows him to frame the upcoming activities to his advantage. He informs Dill, “Brian’s going to give you the most deliciously awful orgasm you’ve ever had, and while you’re wondering how something that usually feels so good somehow feels so bad, I’m going to fuck you to make it worse.”  
  
 _Jesus. Who taught him to be like this?  
  
…...  
  
...Probably a podcast._  
  
You look at Justin, study his determination because it’s starting to scare you a little, and then you look at Dill and your glance alone reminds him, _You have a safeword. You have colors._ Dill absorbs your message and appears to be coming apart a little, although you suspect that most of it’s the good kind of coming apart. He’s preparing to surrender.  
  
Justin wants to get him back in the scene, so you begin your assigned task, and because you and Justin have released his legs a bit, Dill arches his back and fucks your hand, and Justin’s not having that, “Okay, and one more thing: you may not move below the waist while Brian’s touching you unless we ask you to. You may not pump or thrust or express any physical pleasure from _here_ down.”  
  
 _Is Justin getting word-of-the-day emails from the Marquis de Sade?_  
  
Dill looks...well...a bit defeated, less than convinced that this is a rule he can follow, “I will do my best, Sir.”  
  
“Because Brian and I could be fucking anybody we want right now. _Anyone._ But we’re here playing with _you_.”  
  
You clear your throat and think, _well, he’s not wrong._  
  
“Understood, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”  
  
You get an icy shiver when Justin turns his attention back to you. He looks down at your gloved fingers inside your captive and then his eyes find yours, a satisfied grin on his face, “I want him on his side, facing you.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Dill’s hesitant to move, but you help him while registering a bit of ecstatic fear in his eyes. Justin slides up behind him and begins to place Dill’s body where he wants it. “Put your leg over Brian’s hip,” he says, so Dill complies. He presses the kid against you, his face in your shoulder. His arm curves around your torso. When he moans, the sound waves reverberate against your skin.  
  
Justin gives you a look best described as an optical starter pistol, and you begin to work on Dill, giving him a master class in digital stimulation. Justin fucks with this kid’s head throughout all of it, all while sending him affectionate subtext with everything but his words…  
  
“Because this, right now, this is for us, not you. It’s for us to see if you can follow instructions and are worth having in our bed.”  
  
Dill’s voice is muffled against you, “Yes, Sir.”  
  
The more pleasure Dill feels, the louder he moans (as this is not forbidden, thank god), and the tighter his arm is around your torso. He squeezes you, a cry for metaphorical help he knows he’s not getting. You tip his head back and kiss him, a tactile apology for what Justin’s making you put him through. This same Justin watches you do this and pets Dill’s hair like he’s comforting a boy who’s learning to ride a bike who’s just fallen off for the fifth time...even though Justin’s the one that pushed him.  
  
“Brian will know when you’re about to come,” Justin tells him. _He’s right about that, too._  
  
“Would you like to come, Dill?” Justin asks.  
  
“Yes, please,” he breathes.  
  
“Then show him that and beg. Beg him to let you come.”  
  
You thought the show you were coming to see tonight would be confined to the dungeon at Release. Let the record show that you were wrong. Your new friend is ridiculously horny with nothing to lose. “ _Harder, please,_ ” he whisper-begs you and the desperation in his voice makes your cock stiffen. Justin looks at you and slyly replies, “Don’t let up.” _Sir, yes, Sir!_ “Edge him a little.”  
  
While you didn’t consciously know before this moment was that you and Justin have an entire subliminal intercourse language developed between you. You realize it now and are truly hoping he’ll translate your expression into, ‘ _Are you fucking nuts? He’s twenty-two. He can’t edge.’_  
  
Justin swallows and you take that as an understanding that he needs to back off this kid a little, but instead he leans down and breathes into his ear, _“You like this, don’t you? Being tortured like this?”_  
  
Dill’s voice has found a new octave, “Yes, Sir.” Justin grins. “Sir, may I come, please? Please, I’m gonna come.” He’s squeezing your waist so tightly that it’s going to leave a mark.  
  
“Good boy,” Justin praises him. “See Brian? He knows what he wants after all.”  
  
He’s telling the truth; you can feel the tug inside him. Once his orgasm has been triggered but before he’s ejaculated, you stop everything except for the almost-but-too-much pressure on his prostate. As Dill begins to ooze, Justin pulls your hand out, and the groan that this kid emits is one of sheer agony. Dill reacts with his mouth and eyes wide open; his face reflecting the strange feeling of the slow leak he’s experiencing; the letdown is hell for him. And Justin never breaks, “Now, thank Brian for that. Thank him for letting you come.”  
  
“Thank you, Brian,” he says as he gulps awkwardly for air, “Sir.” You get a good look at Dill’s red face; his pupils are darker than Justin’s intentions, pools of pleasure staring back at you backlit by pain. “You’re very welcome,” you say.  
  
“I want him on his back,” Justin orders, so you release Dill’s warm body. There’s fluid everywhere. Dill looks disheveled and confused, but in a _this is what I want_ sort of way. Justin’s eager, moving quickly on top of him, so you stop him, your hand on his shoulder, “A condom? Don’t you want a condom?”  
  
“Fuck...yes...sorry.”  
  
You get one for him and Dill lies there transfixed as Justin rolls it on and then fills him. You stay near Dill’s face because he is in obvious pain and it’s not a pain he knows. You whisper to him, his face pressed against your bicep, “ _Blue and yellow make?_ ”  
  
“Green, Sir,” he says quietly.  
  
Justin glances at you for a clue as to how much pain Dill’s really in, and a micro-expression is all Justin needs to know it’s okay to take this as far as he wants to take it. A minute or so in, Justin opines, “It should be illegal to be this warm and this tight.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
  
“I’m not talking to you. It’s like fucking a hot pocket.”  
  
You laugh at him because Justin hasn’t had a hot pocket since before you met him. He’s _been_ a hot pocket on more than one occasion, but that’s different. Confident that Dill’s in a safe place, you lie next to him as Justin fucks him. Justin has him folded in half, and he takes his time, some of which is gifted by way of the condom. Both of you know exactly where Dill is, a red balloon floating above both of you, the string wound in the bond you’re creating.  
  
As Justin tackles the physicality of the moment, you guard the rest of it for both of them.  
  
“Dill, listen to me,” Justin says.  
  
“Yes, Sir?”  
  
“If you want to play with us, to give this a try, there are rules—“  
  
You shake your head as you interrupt Justin to stop him, “Let’s chill for a minute, okay? One step at a time. And you and I need to discuss that first. He’s had a pretty busy and unexpected night, so let’s give him time to recover.”  
  
Justin isn’t thrilled that you stopped him, but he can tell it’s non-negotiable so he concedes, “Brian’s right. You need, we all need, time to chill and reflect.”  
  
“Good boy,” you tell him as you pat him on the head. Dill laughs, and Justin rolls his eyes at you. You offer just a hint of what could be in store for your new friend, “At our house, we have an actual dungeon with actual medical equipment; you might like it there.”  
  
“Really?” Dill asks, “You bought a house with a dungeon?”  
  
Justin laughs, “Brian had built it for me, a remodeling project basically. It doubles as a panic room, too.”  
  
You smile as you tell Dill, “Yes, and by that he means that he himself has been panicked in there plenty of times.” Justin gives you an unimpressed look, and you challenge him, “Am I lying?”  
  
He sighs, “No, you’re not lying. You’re just trying to embarrass me.”  
  
You grin at both of them and then whisper to Dill, “ _He’s cute when he’s embarrassed.”_  
  
“I can hear you, Brian,” Justin complains.  
  
Dill pulls Justin’s focus back to him, “I like how you two are; you’re funny together. But you were right, this fuck is pretty horrible but like in a good way.”  
  
“That’s because all pleasure has to be earned,” Justin tells him like he’s been Domming all his blond little life.  
  
Dill looks at you and then back at Justin before posing his earnest question, “But what if earning the pleasure gives me pleasure?”  
  
Justin appears ready to lecture him, but you stop him again, your hand on Dill’s face, “Listen to me. Are you listening?”  
  
“Of course, Sir,” Dill replies.  
  
“You need to learn to quit when you’re ahead, got it?”  
  
Dill smiles, “Okay. I understand. You’re right.”  
  
“I’m always right.”  
  
Justin dismisses you, “Can you get us something to drink?”  
  
“Okay, I can take a hint,” you admit as you stand up, “But I am warning both of you, no discussion of this relationship or it’s rules while I’m gone. Got it?”  
  
Dill replies immediately, “Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Thank you.” You look hard at Justin, “Are we clear?”  
  
He sighs dramatically, “Yes, we’re clear.”  
  
“Okay, good. I shall return.” You take your time gathering more whiskey. You scroll through your phone and skim a couple of articles. It’s an intentional delay because you want the two of them to have this time together. You want them to bond a little without you. It will serve a greater purpose in the long run. Your gut tells you that this is the guy. This is what Justin wants and who he wants. You can’t help but wonder if you should’ve said yes to a puppy years ago. Too late for that now. Plus, puppy or sex slave? How is that even a question? You already have a collar, leash, and all the toys he'll need, and you won't have to buy different food. He might need a shot or two though. You never know...  
  
Eventually, you wander into the bathroom just to eavesdrop a little and to take advantage of a mirror angle that lets you see their feet. Justin’s still on top of Dill. You feel protective of their experience, of their shared reality. As they talk, you can tell Dill’s dropped the formal ‘Sir’ moniker. Good. You hear Dill…  
  
“Thanks for spotting me tonight--”  
  
“You were hard to miss--”  
  
“Because I’m so cute?” Dill flirts.  
  
“That and because you were acting so agitated.”  
  
“Oh yeah. I had almost completely forgotten about him. I had no idea you were watching me.”  
  
“You were scaring me a little bit,” Justin admits.  
  
“Why would you be scared of me?” Dill asks, “Or are you kidding? I can’t tell.”  
  
“No, I’m being serious. You know that gay club Babylon?”  
  
“Yeah, it always smells like man meat in there.” You stifle a laugh from your location.  
  
“It’s an acquired smell, for sure.” _Really Justin?_ “I was there the night some homophobic asshole blew it up. It was years ago, like you we’re probably in elementary school then.”  
  
“Oh my God. Are you serious?”  
  
“Yeah, there was an event for a gay marriage proposition and Cyndi Lauper was headlining. It killed some folks and injured a ton of us.”  
  
“Jesus Christ. There’s a lighted plaque behind the bar with people’s names on it. I don’t really dance, so I end up hovering around the bar, but never really put it all together.”  
  
“We rebuilt it. That’s a memorial plaque.”  
  
“So like the whole community came together and rebuilt it afterwards? Now I get why they won’t close it down.”  
  
Justin sighs, “Brian owns it; we own it. He rebuilt it.”  
  
“I...had…no idea. Wow. I shouldn’t have said those things,” Dill replies sounding mortified.  
  
“We’ll just punish you for it,” Justin says and then there’s a long silent pause before he speaks again, “I’m kidding. Stop looking at me like that. I’m teasing you.”  
  
“But you do own it? That part’s true?”  
  
“Yeah. It’s not really the place to be anymore, but Brian felt like if we didn’t reclaim it that someone would just put a Target there and Babylon and its history would be forgotten.”  
  
“I understand that. You and Brian were both hurt?”  
  
“No, Brian wasn’t there that night; he was going on a business trip, and then he heard it on the news and came right away.”  
  
“Because he knew you were there?”  
  
“Yeah. Me and our friends. I was lucky; I was just scraped up and covered in cement dust.”  
  
“Jesus. So when you saw me at Release all frustrated with my phone….” Dill’s voice just trails off before resuming, “Were you guys married then?”  
  
“No—“  
  
Dill catches himself, “Well, duh. You couldn’t hence the event. I forget sometimes.”  
  
Justin lets that be the answer and changes the subject, “So you’re enjoying yourself tonight, creepy story aside?”  
  
You hear them kissing, and then Dill speaks, “Aside from the part where I triggered a horrible memory for you and then insulted your establishment, it’s been amazing.”  
  
“Good. So am I,” Justin admits.  
  
“So am I,” you announce from your position in the doorway with the bottle of whiskey and glasses in your hands with a proposition, “Shall we toast to unexpected evenings?”  
  
…...  
  
There’s too much whiskey and light post-coital banter after that, and it doesn’t surprise you when Justin nods off while Dill’s once again explaining whatever the fuck Computational Biology is. Dill asks you, “Sir, should I call an Uber and go?”  
  
You look at Justin snoozing in his collar and look at the clock; it’s almost two in the morning. “We can take you back to campus in the morning, early, if that works for you,” you offer.  
  
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”  
  
“If you’re okay being here, we’re happy to have you.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
  
Justin begins to snore a bit, and Dill laughs a little. “He’s had a very busy day,” you inform him. “We had a lot going on before we even met you. If you get hungry, we have some freshly expired peanuts in the kitchen.” Dill decides to take you up on that, and, at your request, he also gets a bottle of water for you. While he’s gone, you slide over to Justin and carefully remove his collar; he’s never worn it this long. He barely moves as you pull it away, a red ring left around his neck. Dill returns, snacking on the peanuts. He’s the quietest eater you’ve ever seen, reminding you of a well-mannered squirrel. It’s like his jaw is somehow soundproof. He offers to sleep on the sofa, and you shake your head, “No, Justin wouldn’t want that.”  
  
Dill seems anxious, “I’ve never done this with a couple before. I”m not sure what’s proper etiquette.” You want to crack up at this kid, but he’s so sincere, you can’t do it. It would be like spoiling Santa for a small child. He begins to scout your bedroom, “I don’t even know where my underwear is.”  
  
You point to the doorway of your bedroom, “It’s out there on the bench where you got undressed.”  
  
“Oh yeah, duh. Thank you.”  
  
As you watch Dill put his briefs on, you ask him, “Would you be more comfortable on the sofa?”  
  
He looks relieved, “Yes. I’m sorry; I just don’t think I should--. I mean--.”  
  
“No need to apologize. It’s fine.” You get out of bed and find a sheet, pillow and blanket and hand it to Dill. You watch him as he sheets your sofa with the precision of a soldier in the army. He covers every inch of the expensive leather, fluffs his pillow and then looks up and sees you standing there...with your dick in your hand. It seems like he wants an explanation, so you give him one, “I think this is the first time I’ve gotten an erection watching someone make a bed.”  
  
Dill defends himself, “I know. I’m very OCD. I apologize. I try to be less so around other people.”  
  
“Don’t do that.”  
  
“Don’t do what?”  
  
“Don’t censor yourself around other people. That’s just some free life advice.”  
  
Dill responds, standing with the blanket folded over his arms, “Another advantage from meeting you two. I think I’m losing count.”  
  
You smile, “You don’t know the half of it yet, trust me.”  
  
He smiles back, exuding a courage that intrigues you so you ask, “Will it fuck with your OCD if you and I spend some time on the sofa?”  
  
Dill reveals a slight smile and places the folded blanket on the end of the couch, “Absolutely not.”  
  
As you walk across the room to him, he kneels on the rug. You sit on the sofa with one leg on either side of him. You reach for his hands and place one on each of your knees. “I want you to formally introduce yourself to my cock,” you tell him.  
  
“My pleasure, Sir,” Dill replies, pressing his face into your thigh and slowly kissing his way closer to your dick still located in your hand. You stroke yourself and the back of his head, steering his face to your balls.  
  
“Lick them,” you instruct him, “Suck on them a little.” You lay your head back on the couch and enjoy the attention; it’s the first time you’ve completely relaxed since you left your house and headed to Release. There’s nothing strange about Dill’s touch at all. He knows what he’s doing; his hands are warm. He kisses your stomach and peels your hand away from your own cock. “May I say something, Sir?” he asks you.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ve been told this your entire life, but you’re ridiculously handsome.”  
  
“You don’t say?” you tease him.  
  
“And your cock---”  
  
You prioritize for him, “Thank you. Less talking, more tongue.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
Your fingers dance in his soft thick brown hair. The fellatio Dill’s performing is post-graduate level. This guy can worship a cock. “Get ready,” you tell him seconds before you come inside his mouth. He swallows and then smiles up at you, a gesture you return. “Get up here,” you command, and Dill pops off his knees and sits next to you. You kiss him, your hand wandering between his legs to see if he’s as hard as you bet he is. “I want you to masturbate for me,” you instruct, “Lie back right here.” Dill’s head meets the pillow he fluffed for himself as you tell him, “Spread your legs.” He props a leg over yours as you rub his thigh. As he gets worked up, you push his legs back, “It’s rare to find such an under-utilized asshole.”  
  
“Sir, please,” he begs when he feels your hand near his entrance.  
  
“I’m not going to give you what you want. That’s not how this works.”  
  
“I want you to fuck me,” Dill blurts out like its a timed question on a game show.  
  
You lick your finger and trace his hole, “I know you do.That’s not an option. Before we drop you off tomorrow, you’re going to give me your full name, and a pic of your driver’s license and social security number so I can run a background and credit check on you Monday morning. If you pass that, then you can go back to fantasizing about me fucking you someday.  
  
“Okay. You can check anything you want. IQ—“  
  
“I’m not the least bit worried about your IQ—“  
  
“Personality test—“  
  
“That’s what tonight was,” you confirm.  
  
“Or we can hold a seance and interview my dead relatives.”  
  
“That’s funny. But with my luck, my dead parents would try to crash it.” Dill laughs, and you continue, “And, ultimately, if you make it through those hurdles, you’ll be answering to Justin first, not me.”  
  
At some point in that conversation, without making a conscious decision, you took over stroking Dill and he’s relaxed on his pillow, his hands tucked behind his head. Dill puts a hand on your shoulder, bracing himself against the pleasure he’s feeling as he admits, “I like him. A lot. He has the most gorgeous blue eyes. And he told me about the club, the bomb. Oh my god.”  
  
“That was so long ago that I didn’t even pick up on what was bothering him when he saw you tonight.”  
  
“He said you weren’t there…back then, I mean—“  
  
“I was headed to the airport. Heard it on the news.”  
  
“The terror you must’ve felt.”  
  
“Terror is putting it mildly. I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“Of course, I’m sorry. I was just saying that I like him. He’s very genuine is what I mean.”  
  
“He is that. And I think he likes you, too, but he and I need to talk this out because this liaison tonight was not pre-planned. He saw you and we rerouted, so to speak.”  
  
“I understand. Same for me, and I have exams this week so I need to focus. Is it okay if I come?”  
  
“Yes, just relax.”  
  
Dill lies back and starts to roll his hips in response to your touch until long white stripes of cum land on his chest. You forgot how white cum looks when you’re in your twenties.  
  
“Thank you, Sir,” Dill says as he uses his underwear to clean himself off. He catches the question on your face, “I have spare clothes in my backpack because I thought—“  
  
“Right, that other guy.” You make your way back to your own bed, “Good night, Dill. Sweet dreams.”  
  
“Same to you, Sir.”  
  
“Thank you, and by all means, sleep _tight.”_  
  
************  
At seven thirty on Sunday morning, you and Justin drop Dill back on campus. As you both watch him walk to his dorm, Justin announces that he’s hungry. “You want to go have breakfast somewhere?” you ask.  
  
“Let’s just drive through _Panera_ or something. I want to get home.”  
  
You make a left and head toward the restaurant. With coffee and a breakfast sandwich in his belly, Justin’s mood perks up a bit, “He’s worried about his exams this week. He has at least three midterms.”  
  
“I don’t miss those days,” you observe, “Also, don’t let me forget. I have your collar in my pocket.”  
  
“Oh, okay. That’s the only thing that bothers me about Dill. He makes me wish I’d gotten a four year degree,” Justin says.  
  
“Well, that’s nothing. He’s the same age as Gus. Wanna trade?”  
  
“Oh my god, I did not even think about that. How would you feel if Gus was auditioning to be a couple’s submissive while getting ready to graduate from college?”  
  
“Thank you for making it much, much worse.”  
  
“And what if the couple was straight?” Justin pretends to vomit. “Do we even know if the couple would be gay or straight?”  
  
“You know, let me call Gus real quick and ask him.”  
  
“Ew, wait, what if it was a lesbian couple that just wanted a young dick around now and then?”  
  
 _Enough already, Marquis de Twat._  
  
The car gets quiet as you speed up on the freeway; there’s little traffic to get in your way. Finally, Justin changes the subject, “You’re going to run a background check on him? He told me that.”  
  
“Yep. Just like I would a new employee, background and credit.”  
  
“That’s smart. I didn’t think about that.”  
  
“It’s just good to know,” you confirm. “Have you given any thought to what you want out of this? I mean, there’s no rush, just asking.”  
  
Justin turns in his seat, a smile on his face, “Honestly, first and foremost, I just really want to get home to our bed.”  
  
You smile at him, “Okay.” You watch as Justin’s hand covers your on the gear shift. You let go of it so your fingers twine together. He sighs and looks out the window.  
  
…..  
  
You shower together when you get home, soaping his backside as he leans against you, requested intimacy you’re happy to provide. Justin purrs as you wash him, especially when you massage his scalp with his favorite sandalwood shampoo. “You seem awfully happy, you know.”  
  
“What a stupid phrase: ‘awfully happy.’”  
  
“True. But you are.”  
  
“Yeah, I am.”  
  
You start to respond but he prevents it by curling his arms around your neck and kissing you. Once you’ve dried off, he pulls you to your bed by the towel around your waist.  
  
“You’re acting like you took Ecstasy when I wasn’t looking,” you observe.  
  
“I need you inside me, and I want you to stay there for a long time.”  
  
“No argument here.”  
  
Deep inside him, his arms and legs around you, he’s completely focused on the pleasure he’s experiencing. At one point, he says very quietly, “Marrying you, being with you, is the best decision I ever made.” **  
**  
“Keeping you happy and borderline satisfied is the best job I ever had,” you reciprocate, "And this past week has been quite the sexual adventure."  
  
“Very true. You let me be whoever I need to be; there’s never a question. You trust me, and that makes me really horny.”  
  
“If we’re renewing our vows today, I didn’t get the email,” you tease.  
  
Justin gives you a serious look, his hand rubbing your stubbled cheek, “You aren’t afraid to let someone in our life. I know when you’re afraid, and you’re not.”  
  
“I’m not afraid; I know what you need and generally what you want. It would scare me if I didn’t know.”  
  
“Exactly,” Justin agrees.  
  
“Can I fuck you now? Because I really want to.”  
  
“Yes, but make me beg. Don’t make it easy.”  
  
“Anything else?” you question.  
  
“Nope, that’s it.”  
  
“One long hard fuck coming up…just for you.”


	37. Negotiations 37.1 -- Meet Dill (Author's note)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7/2/20 - Originally published  
> Just a little background on Dill...

_"Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."_ ~E.L. DOCTOROW"  
  
[](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/theconservatory/5750013/1569/1569_original.jpg)  
So, meet Dill. A little background... since the beginning of [Negotiations](https://theconservatory.livejournal.com/53603.html) in 2014 (0_o), I have felt a male presence around Brian and Justin but he would not come into the light. I knew he was white and closer to Justin's age, but that was all. I could not sense what he needed to come forward, so I just kept writing the story. I knew he was hovering around Release in some way, but that he wasn't a slave or a Dom there. I tried out different names which is basically just my muse finding the shadow he's hiding in in my brain and holding up a sign that said "ERIC" or something and waiting. I sent her with a few different name cards, and yet, she kept coming back alone.  
  
Then I met Josh who I knew was an unexplored character in the Release universe, so when he showed up to fix Brian's front steps, I paid close attention to the energy he was exuding and it was all similar to Brian's. In my mind, there's a continuum with Justin at one end and Brian at the other, and Josh was velcroed to Brian's end of the continuum but I knew he needed to come in. I didn't understand why, but after all these years, I often just quit asking that question. I just let him in. The combination lock around Dill's persona became about thirty percent unlocked after that evening with Josh at their house. I could see that the character was waiting for a path in.  
  
And of course, _now_ , I know why, because I needed to be back _at_ Release because that was the location where [Dill was going to respond to his invite](https://theconservatory.livejournal.com/64698.html). I just didn't have the story until I wrote that night, and Justin got all caught up in that new slave stuff and finally sat down on that loveseat to watch the show with Brian.  
  
That's when I felt Dill hovering and frustrated. I could almost feel him breathing on me, so I stepped out of the way and let him present himself. So far I know he's wealthy (not rich), very intelligent, and battles with OCD. He's very honest, almost to a fault, and very determined to satisfy this part of himself. To him, being well-rounded, isn't about playing a sport and being in the band; he's wise beyond his years and sees himself as a man with needs that should be fulfilled.  
  
It feels really pompous to describe the writing process in this way, but I don't know how else to explain where my characters come from or how they present. It's part of the reason I write so slowly because I rarely see all the way down a road in a straight shot.  
  
ETA: Oooh, and I just now remembered where Dill's appearance came from. I have a LOT of deliveries at my house, for my business and for food. I don't like to shop in stores. I was a virtual hermit long before COVID. So, one day, this kid delivers food to me, and I see him on camera before it's delivered, and I got a warm chill which makes no sense. I went to meet him at the door and he looked straight in my eyes, and I was thinking, _"It's you. Hi. I know who you are."_ I didn't know his name, but ever sense then, I've known that he was the physical description of my shy male character.  
  
~Plum


	38. Negotiations 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9/4/20-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 38  
DILL’S POV**  
  
Last night was supposed to be the night you got what you thought you wanted. You, an introvert by nature, had come to terms with what you needed to feel satisfied, and at the very least, getting it required being less of one. The cyber route was comforting; it allowed you to take only small steps forward. After more than three weeks of this careful communication, you felt ready to pull the trigger.  
  
The realization that this might go up in a puff of smoke had always been a small possibility in the back of your mind. But you still felt hurt, and embarrassed, and stupid when your guy no-showed.  
  
None of those feelings, however, made the bulk of your urges go away. These needs you have, they’re always there. They never leave you alone. You assign their birth to twelve years ago, when you were ten, but you believe they existed unformed long before that. They had to, didn’t they?  
  
First, they came in private times. You were the oldest child of two children. You’re younger sister, Everly, is three years younger. You had your own room, and at night starting when you were ten or eleven, you were fastidious about announcing your self-imposed early bedtime by firmly closing your door. Locking it would’ve brought unwanted attention, so you propped a foot stool in front of it. You wanted to be boisterously alerted if someone, probably Everly, was trying to gain entrance. You sat up in bed in a particular spot with the covers rolled back, your feet making a closed circle in front of you, your heels pressed together. You folded your hands in the middle of that circle, leaned forward a little and began to rock.  
  
 _Back.  
  
And forth.  
  
And back.  
  
And forth_  
  
It took about ten minutes of this introspective self-soothing routine for the ‘man’ to ‘appear.’ He was some sort of amorphous super hero lurking in the corner of your room, his arms crossed, always shadowed and always a little angry or maybe inconvenienced? It was hard to tell. And once he was there, he was everywhere. He was inside your mind and outside of it. He could read your thoughts and even predict them. You felt a hot sweaty shame between your legs when he was traversing the sick content of your brain. What you felt had to be wrong, but still you liked it. You knew it was wrong, and so did he, but that didn’t matter at all. He was going to rape you, and you were going to like it, and he knew that. He was there specifically because you liked it. And yet, you didn’t even know exactly what was happening every night in your imagination. You knew that ‘rape’ was a bad thing, that it made women get kidnapped and scream and sometimes die, and afterwards, sometimes they would march right by your house chanting and holding up signs that said _take back the night._ One time, your mom lit a candle and sat on the front porch when they filed past. Your little sister sat next to her with her own candle that wasn’t even lit. You weren’t given a candle, so you went back inside. It clearly wasn’t something for boys.  
  
He wasn’t going to leave until _it_ was over.  
  
His rubbery superhero suit covered his entire body and face, all solid black, and he never took it off when he laid down on top of you. You put your hands over your head and held onto your headboard like he’d tied you up. You let the imagined rhythm of his shiny heavy body squeaking and rutting on top of you put you to sleep. And then one night when you were almost completely out, the warmth you felt building and building and building inside you dribbled into your underwear and made you feel a weird exhaustion. After that, you only kept one hand on the headboard. You were starting to solve the puzzle.  
  
*********  
That Sunday morning, your roommate was snoring in your loft, so you grabbed the books you needed, a few protein bars, a smart water, and your laptop and left before he could wake up to question you. You never studied in the dorm anyway because it was filled with underclassmen who just partied all the time. You headed for the graduate library, took the elevator to the fifth floor, and found the most secluded study room available. For privacy, you covered the tiny rectangle window in the door with newspaper and tape you kept in your backpack. You ate, drank—both actions breaking library rules—and then laid out the study materials for the two exams you were going to cram for, colored highlighters, lined index cards, and two identical pens. Before you silenced your phone, you took one more look at the text Justin sent you after you’d put your info in his phone:  
  
 _We like you. Study hard. Talk soon._  
  
As Justin had walked the long brick sidewalk back to their car, you texted him back to confirm, _You mean it? This is for real?_ It sounded desperate, but you didn’t care. They’d picked you up, not the other way around.  
  
Justin saw the text and turned around with a beautiful smile on his face. Seconds later, an answer came, _Yep. Very._  
  
You were inclined to believe him which made it much easier to forget all of it and start studying.  
  
*********  
On Monday evening around six p.m., you got a text from Justin indicating that you’d cleared all the background checks and were good to go. When you explained that you were on a dinner break, he asked if he could call you. The two of you chatted for about twenty minutes from your perch on a brick wall outside the library. He sounded excited, like he wanted to hear your voice. You felt the same as you told him, “My last exam is Wednesday at one o’clock. It’ll last until 3:30, worst case. I don’t have to take my Thursday exam; my grade is high enough.”  
  
“Well, that’s awesome,” Justin said.  
  
“That means that I’m available Wednesday night….”  
  
He sounded excited, “Hmmm… Let me talk to Brian about that. I’ll get back to you asap.”  
  
“Okay, I’m going back into the library to study, so just text me and let me know.”  
  
“I will. Glad we got to talk,” and then Justin paused, “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”  
  
You smiled as you told him, “Same here. Hopefully Wednesday.” You jumped off the wall and made your way back inside the library to your same study room. Keeping the door’s little window covered led people to believe someone was always in there. You resisted the urge to jerk off before resuming your studies because you knew it would lead to a nap. Plus, it was more fun to pretend you didn’t have permission.  
  
The follow up text from Justin came over an hour later:  
  
 _Wednesday works. Brian has to work that night, so he said you and I can spend some one-on-one time at the loft. Can you be there around six?_  
  
You answered him immediately:  
  
 _Absolutely. See you then._  
  
*********  
On Wednesday after your last exam, you went back to your dorm and began to get ready. You took a long shower all alone in your community bathroom, shaved, and spent more time than usual on your hair. You’d abstained from any self-stimulation since you said goodbye to your new friends on Sunday morning. It felt good to feel horny for something real. When you got back into your room post shower, there was a text on your phone from Brian…  
  
 _A car service will pick you up at quarter to six where we dropped you off. Everything’s taken care of. They have your cell. Have fun tonight._  
  
Below that text was a ping from the car company showing you their estimated arrival time. At least ten people who know you by name saw you waiting for your ride and watched you get into a mysterious black car. You’d figure out a lie to tell the ones who asked later.  
  
With your backpack one again filled with a change of clothes, you climbed the stairs to their loft, only a little nervous when you knocked on the metal door.  
  
*********  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
The car service dropped you at Brian’s office around four o’clock because Brian had a break for about half an hour. There were several new campaigns launching at once which meant that you’d see much less of your husband this week. When you arrived, you found Brian standing outside the back door that led to a hidden patio outside his office. He was wearing latex gloves while smoking a cigarette. With each passing year, smoking was becoming an exponentially less desirable trait for anyone to have, ad execs probably being the last to go because they’re the ones that sold them in the first place. Nowadays, Brian doesn’t want clients to know that he smokes, so he goes to some crazy lengths to hide it. At work, he’ll don latex gloves and take maybe four puffs of it outside and get rid of it, his suit pocket always stocked with gum. He smiled when he saw you tap on the door and motioned you outside. The plan was for Brian to drive you to the loft now and then pick both you and Dill up around eleven and drop Dill back on campus. He began his elaborate cigarette disposal routine as you asked him, “Can you take me to that store so I can get some wine and some snacks? We have nothing at the loft.”  
  
Brian smiled, “Sure, but you have to be quick about it.”  
  
“I will be. I know.”  
  
Brian knows which store you mean without you having to name it. It’s a bougie market that caters to the gay male demographic where everything is priced ridiculously high precisely so gays will buy it. Anytime either you or Brian shop there, you count how many guys you could’ve easily picked up and fucked in the car. “Two, maybe three,” you announced after walking out with two brown bags full of red and white wine, cheese you couldn’t pronounce, crackers, peanut butter, and protein bars. Brian helped you carry it up and put it away.  
  
Once the task was complete--quick, dirty, and out of nowhere--Brian pulled you into his arms and kissed you hard before fucking you over the kitchen counter. “ I want your bottom full of cum when he gets here,” he declared as he came inside you, his fingers tearing through your hair. He didn’t care that you didn’t orgasm either; he was consumed with putting himself back together as if nothing had just transpired between you. Brian fancies himself a magician who's hiding his cigarettes and his quickies. On his way out of the door, he withdrew a white envelope out of his jacket pocket, “See this?"  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He left it on the counter, “Open it with Dill when he gets here. Not before.”  
  
“I should‘ve known you helping with the groceries was a trick,” you lamented, “Do I at least get a kiss goodbye?”  
  
He blew you one, “I’m in a hurry. West coast conference call. I’ll see you later tonight.” You caught the kiss in your hand and put it immediately on your dick which Brian saw out of the corner of his eye, “No, no. No jerking off, none of that until he gets here.”  
  
“Just get out of here,” you ordered him. Now you had to re-primp for the evening and there would be no time to set out the fucking cheese and crackers.  
  
As usual, Brian reveled in your irritation with him. “Love you, Sunshine,” he quipped right before he shut the door.  
  
*********  
The knock on the door came at exactly six o’clock while you were changing into some extra underwear you had at the loft. That and a speedy hair rearranging was all you had time to do.  
  
Dill had a smile on his face when you slid the door open. Your irritation of the last fifteen minutes evaporated when you saw him. Wearing a different pair of very expensive jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with a distressed white logo, he was leaning against the wall outside the door silencing his phone, his biceps bigger than you remembered. He offered you a glance at the black screen. The small courtesy made you feel in control again. “Come in,” you offered as he stepped inside. “It’s good to see you.”  
  
“Same here. I’ve been excited since we set this up,” Dill admitted as he stepped inside and set his belongings on the chair at the desk.  
  
“I’ve restocked the fridge. Can I get you some wine or beer, and some ridiculously expensive cheese?” you offered.  
  
He took a moment to ponder your question, “Ha, I just realized I didn’t eat. Nerves, I guess.” Dill stood on the opposite side of the counter. “A glass of wine would be great.”  
  
“Red or white?”  
  
“Red, please.” Dill sipped his wine and gobbled up the cheese slices as you were cutting them. Little did he know that he was leaning on the site of your raw anal fornication less than an hour ago.  
  
You laughed at his appetite, “Okay, hang on. We have crackers, too.” You poured a full box onto a plate which amounted to less than twenty crackers. “Oh my god, that is ridiculous. I paid almost seven dollars for this box.”  
  
Dill pointed to the receipt laying on the counter, “The prices at that store are bananas.”  
  
You sighed, “I know. I guess I was trying to impress you.”  
  
Dill teased, “Well, my mother always told me that you can tell a lot about a guy by his crackers.”  
  
“If you’re really hungry, I have protein bars, too, and peanut butter or we can order something,” you offered.  
  
“I’m good.” Dill said and then he picked up the bottle of wine and refilled both of your glasses. “So...what now?”  
  
You reached for the envelope Brian left for the two of you. “Brian gave me this and said to only open it when you got here.”  
  
“Hmm, interesting, maybe it’s a scavenger hunt.” You crossed the loft to the sofa with Dill behind you, ultimately sitting near one another about two feet apart. “Do you know what it is?” Dill asked.  
  
“No clue, but if it is a scavenger hunt, I can promise you we’re both just supposed to find Brian’s cock and we win.”  
  
Dill laughed, jabbing his elbow into your side in jest, “Open it,” he encouraged.  
  
You tried to hide the trepidation inside you as you opened it and pulled out a standard sheet of paper containing a printed note from Brian which you read aloud as Dill leaned in over your shoulder:  
  
 _”Gentlemen,  
I’m sorry I can’t be with you tonight, but I’m sure you’ll do okay without me. Tomorrow night, I’d like to have Dill at our house at seven to tour our dungeon. I’m hoping he’ll want to spend some time down there with us after that.  
  
Feel free to spend your time tonight doing whatever you want. My only caveat is that you make sure that whatever you do strengthens the bond between you because tomorrow night, you’re both going to need it.  
  
-Brian_”  
  
Dill immediately questions you with excitement in his eyes, “What does that mean? Why do we need to bond?”  
  
You were honest, “I have no idea. I didn’t even know that he would be home that early tomorrow night.”  
  
“Okay. I’m assuming from the short amount of time I’ve known you guys, that if Brian tells us to do something, we’d better do it, right?”  
  
“Yes. You’re correct.” You didn’t say anything after that because you didn’t know what to say. You were processing the information in real time and trying to decide what Brian’s real motivation was. Dill took your silence as a possible indication that he should be doing something different. He set his wine glass on the coffee table, and then asked you, “Should I get undressed? Should I kneel? …..Maybe both...?”  
  
You were frozen at that point; your mind was packing up all your thoughts and stuffing them in a closet in the corner of your mind that was already full. That meant that once you went to retrieve them, everything in that fucking closet was going to fall out and go everywhere. Dill may be young, but he’s far from dense; he could read your vibe. Your body didn’t resist when he took your wine glass away and set it next to his on the coffee table. He questioned you quietly, his hand wrapped around your thigh, “Justin?”  
  
Your face answered him, “Hmm?”  
  
“Can I ask what you do for a living?”  
  
It was an odd question at that moment, but it allowed you to walk away from the overflowing thoughts in the corner to a tidier spot in your mind; it allowed you to make eye contact and reconnect with him, “I’m an artist.”  
  
His eyebrows bounced, “Oh yeah? What kind?”  
  
“I paint and I draw. Sometimes I have small gallery shows in New York.”  
  
“Wow, I would’ve never guessed that,” Dill remarked.  
  
“What did you think I did?” you ask, relieved to have an easier line of questioning.  
  
“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t sure you worked. I hope that doesn’t offend you--”  
  
“It doesn’t. I’m about seventy percent ‘kept man’ at this point in my life.”  
  
Dill laughed at your description, “That sounds wonderful. Lucky you.”  
  
 _Yeah, lucky me. And lucky me is not going to let Brian get in my head when he’s not even here for fuck’s sake._  
  
“I know, right? I basically have the perfect life.”  
  
“Well, I’m going to tentatively agree with you until after I get a tour and perhaps an invitation to your dungeon,” Dill said, “And then I can reassess.”  
  
“We’re really hoping for five stars,” you said.  
  
“And a lengthy review about the hot blond guy?”  
  
“I would kill for that. That would drive Brian insane.”  
  
Dill mused, “Well, we’ll see what we can do.”  
  
You looked at him all young and hot and smelling amazing on your sofa and laughed as you agreed with him, “Okay, we have about four hours to spend together tonight. Let’s take this conversation to the bedroom.”


	39. Negotiations 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9/24/20-Originally published

**NEGOTIATIONS 39  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Fortunately, the cleaning service had resheeted the bed from your Saturday activities. It was something you hadn’t even considered. You and Dill sat next to one another and you began by telling him what was on your mind, “I know that Brian thinks we were chatting too much on Saturday night, but I want to know you as much as I can so that this experience makes all of us happy.” Dill nodded as you pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the end of the bed. “I want to know what you like and don’t like; and I want to know what your limits are--hard or soft. And I want to be sure we’re discussing that in a way that makes you comfortable.” You ran your hand over Dill’s chest as he divested both of you of your shoes and socks. “So what do you want me to know?” you asked him.  
  
“Well,” Dill began, “Um...I’m definitely pro-communication. I get that that might not be Brian’s style, but I appreciate how open you are with me—“  
  
You interrupted to emphasize, “Good. We don’t know each other, so it’s crucial to me.”  
  
“Agree. And that—“  
  
You interrupted him, “But wait, let me clarify that. You can always communicate with Brian. His style is different but he would be mortified if something was going wrong and you didn’t communicate with him. That would upset him...tremendously.”  
  
“Okay, I understand that. Anyway, my experience on Saturday, when you were bound and Brian let me explore you, that was so hot. I didn’t know what to expect; I guess I sort of thought the two of you would be tag teaming against me the entire time, so that dynamic was unexpected but I liked it.” You leaned in and kissed him, and then Dill pulled back to finish his thought, “And you have the most beautiful blue eyes, and I think you wore this blue shirt on purpose to accentuate them.”  
  
You grinned, “I did. Brian told me that you liked my eyes.”  
  
“Ah, so he can’t be trusted,” Dill joked.  
  
“With stuff like that? Never.” You kissed Dill again, only this time, you pinched his nipple between your fingers, twisting it to see his reaction, “I want to know how pain makes you feel, how you handle it.”  
  
“Most of the pain play I’ve done is in my head, meaning that I think I like it, but I haven’t had much real experience to gauge that by.”  
  
You posed the question in a different way, “The internet is overflowing with pain play porn. Ever watched it?”  
  
Dill’s face reddened as his eyes shifted away, “Okay, yeah.”  
  
Intermittent appearances of his novice status make you feel a weird warm cozy feeling in your bones. You turned his face back to yours, “And were you aroused?”  
  
“I mean, yeah, but some of that is way hardcore, like insanely so—“  
  
“Well, because that’s what makes money probably, but the point is, you weren’t disgusted by it?”  
  
“No, I was not at all disgusted,” Dill admitted in a hushed ashamed voice.  
  
“C’mere.” You brought his face to yours and kissed him, and the act was revelatory because you could feel him softening and giving in to you. This was what you wanted from the get go. You wanted to be the one to spoil him, not Brian. You wanted to mark him the way a page in a crisp new book is altered forever by a folded corner. With his body close to yours, you pinched both of his nipples at once, this time harder and for a longer period of time as you asked, “So we can play around with this then?”  
  
Dill responded, his head resting on your shoulder, “Yes.”  
  
“So being flogged or spanked, corporal punishment is okay with you?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
You ran your hand up to his throat and squeezed, “What about breath play? Being choked?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
 _So far so good._ “Being tied up? Bound? Gagged? Blindfolded? Handcuffed?”  
  
“Yes...to all.”  
  
You cupped his chin firmly with your hand and pushed his face away a little, “What if I told you that you’re only here to make me happy, that nothing you want matters at all.”  
  
“I would agree with you,” Dill offered.  
  
“And that if you disobey me in any way, I’ll punish you?”  
  
“I would gladly take any punishment deserved or otherwise.”  
  
“So you’re the perfect slave then?” you asked.  
  
“Far from it, just earnest and obedient,” Dill confessed.  
  
“If you want something, it’s okay to tell me. Will you agree to that?”  
  
“I’ll try my best.”  
  
You pulled your shirt off over your head and started to unsnap your jeans and Dill moved in to help you remove them. You leaned against the wall at the head of the bed and motioned him toward you, your legs spread wide. “Give me the same blow job you gave Brian.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
He performed his task quite enthusiastically, but you saved your orgasm for later and instructed him to get completely undressed. You said nothing when he took extra time to fold both your clothes and his and pile them perfectly at the end of the bed. The mattress dipped a little as he laid beside you. You presented him with the assessment you’d made so far, “I think that I can give you a fulfilling experience as a submissive, but I don’t know if I’ll be the kind of Dom you probably want.”  
  
“You mean be like Brian?”  
  
You sighed, “Yeah. I’m not him.”  
  
“Brian said this was the first time you guys brought someone home...as a slave...or whatever. Is that true?”  
  
You nodded, “Yep.”  
  
“So, realistically, you don’t really know what kind of Dom you’ll be, right?”  
  
“That’s a reasonable assumption,” you concur. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”  
  
“Justin, at the risk of embarrassing myself… _you’re_ all I’ve thought about since you guys dropped me off on Sunday morning. You were the one who reached out to me, who made this happen. I want to show you my appreciation for that gesture…. I want to show it to _you_.”  
  
He was so sweet, so sincere, all you could do was tell him the truth, “I’ve been thinking about you just as much. Brian only let me call you on Monday. I wanted to call you everyday but you had exams.”  
  
“I had to block you guys out of my mind to study. My scholarship is dependent on my GPA. It sucked but it was definitely for the best.”  
  
“I’m so glad we met you, but I don’t have a plan for this. Brian and I had agreed to look into getting a...sex slave, and I hate that terminology, but whatever, but I had no clue I was going to find somebody like you right away.”  
  
“So we’re both in the same boat. I wasn’t expecting to go home with a couple I didn’t even know.” Dill’s assessment lessened your insecurities considerably, and he noticed the relief as it spread across your face. “We only have one task tonight; we just need to bond, right?”  
  
You smiled and agreed, “Right.”  
  
“So let’s do it; let’s bond,” he challenged you.  
  
He welcomed you on top of him and stayed very still as you explored his body with your hands and then your mouth, moaning anytime you pinched or bit him. You sucked him a little, just enough to make him heartbroken when you stopped. “When was the last time someone rimmed you?” you asked him.  
  
“A very long time ago.”  
  
“Because you don’t enjoy it?” you wondered.  
  
“No, because most of my hook ups are with guys who want me to rim them. Demanding guys who pretend they’re Doms when they’re really just selfish.”  
  
You laughed at his description, “Well, maybe that’ll be something you can earn.” He seemed happy with that possibility. “I’d like to explore some pain play with you tonight; we have a few things here.”  
  
“Okay, let’s do it.”  
  
You rummaged around for a crop you knew was around and found it smashed against the back of a drawer under the bed. You wedged it free, straightening it out as Dill smiled. “I’m going to cuff your arms over your head; we have a hidden restraint system under this mattress.”  
  
Dill raised and presented his joined hands over his abdomen, “You guys have thought of everything.”  
  
“We just have way too much disposable income and no children to raise.”  
  
“How long have you two been playing like this?” he asked as you linked his hands and used an o-ring to attach them to the restraints.  
  
You straddled Dill then, just below his cock and ran the edge of the leather crop in wavy lines over his skin. It was nice to have someone to talk to about this part of your life because it’s not a subject you can really bring up with friends or family. You began, “It’s been a very slow-cooked part of our relationship. It’s kind of like we had all the ingredients in a crock pot twenty years ago and we set it on low and then forgot about it. Then every once in a while, we’d get hungry for it and go eat a little bit, but then one day, we ate it all and we’ve sort of been on an all-you-can-eat binge since then. Bringing you in is like trying out a new recipe, I guess.” You tapped the crop on his armpit a few times and then whapped him with it. He tightened up, “Ow, whoa!”  
  
“Too much?”  
  
“No one’s ever paid any attention to my armpit. That was wicked.”  
  
You repeated the action on the other armpit. This time, Dill knew what to expect. As he exclaimed again, you leaned down and kissed him, warning him with sugar in your tone, “You need to toughen up.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
Your conversation continued as you explored his chest with the toy, “See, the thing is, everyone we know, our friends, they’re all about their kids or renovating their homes or traveling abroad and living an instagramable life. There’s no part of our lives that I can really share with anybody. He works; I create, and the rest is basically X-rated.”  
  
“That’s true; I get that,” Dill agrees, his eyes on the crop and its next destination instead of your face. You stopped complaining about your life and focused on the treasure you found that’s nude and erect in your bed.  
  
It’s invigorating to play this role, to be the one who decides how Dill’s evening is going to go and what factors he’ll have to contend with. He leaned in to the pain play, responding positively, even when most of his chest was covered in a hot pink blush of color. You scooted back a little, leaned down and sucked gently on his nipples while enjoying the confusion in his moans as he tried to keep the pain and pleasure from mixing together, a veritable lost cause. You used the crop all over his torso and abdomen, smacking the leather on his skin and then turning the crop vertically to run wavy lines down around his cock. You did this repeatedly until he began to expect that pattern. Then when you reversed where the pain was going, focusing close to the base of his cock, he jerked his handcuffs and bucked a little underneath you. “ _Fuck,_ ” he breathed out.  
  
“You’re okay,” you reassured him. “You can handle this.” You had zero doubt in his abilities.  
  
You administered the toy methodically across the middle of his body, and admired your work several minutes later while straddling his calves. Every inch of his skin was red except for a ring of pale pink area his hard cock that you’d shown far less attention to. You stroked him a few times, and then added the crop work back in to thoroughly fry his pleasure-pain receptors. You could tell it was working by the dark pools his eyes had become. You spit on your hand and worked his cock a little harder monitoring his face, his mouth open a little, his lips more red. “You’re doing well,” you told him as you dismounted his legs to look for a condom, “I’m proud of you.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir.” Dill saw what you were up to and spread his legs, but you shook your head and instructed him, “No, as you were.” He returned his legs to the parallel position. You rolled the condom down his cock, swung your leg across his body, and lined him up. As you lowered yourself onto his dick, his breathing became glitchy. He wasn’t expecting to be inside you and a string of call outs to deities followed as you rode him, grinding yourself against his warm punished skin. You drove your mouth to his ear, holding him down as you took the pleasure you wanted from him, “I’m going to come all over you, and then I’m going to make you eat it.”  
  
Dill nodded, swallowing, “Please, do it.”  
  
You began your final ride, and Dill was quickly overcome with pleasure and then mortified that he was coming. You ignored it in the moment;  
it just made you more determined to work your hips until his eyes crossed permanently. You came in white lines all over his chest and chin and didn’t release him until you fed him every drop you could from your fingers. Reaching up to uncuff him, you kissed him as his arms popped free; he put his hands on your knees and thanked you profusely, a gesture that you interrupted quickly, “Listen to me. I guess I didn’t make it clear that you may never come without permission. Consider yourself informed.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“You have a nice cock,” you told him. “That was a pretty decent ride.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir. That was fucking amazing.”  
  
“Yeah, you won’t get that lucky every time. That was basically a signing bonus.”  
  
“Understood.”

  
***********  
 **DILL’S POV**  
  
At 10:37 p.m., the door to the loft flew open unexpectedly, scaring the shit out of both you and Justin. The two of you were splitting a protein bar in bed while discussing your favorite shows to binge watch. The fright hardened your nipples into petrified pebbles.  
  
“Jesus, Brian,” Justin admonished him, “You were supposed to text me so we could get ready to go.”  
  
Brian appeared at the steps to the bedroom, and all the energy in the loft completely polarized and altered your vision into a funhouse mirror where Brian appeared closer and taller than he actually is. You closed your eyes and tried to shake it away. Having already stripped his tie off and unbuttoned his untucked shirt, he asked, “There’s no rush, right?”  
  
Justin looked at you, “Dill?”  
  
“No, I’m fine,” you expressed, your heart still gyrating.  
  
“Great,” Brian announced, his eyes scanning the room until they locked with yours and the new energy encased you, “Get off my bed and kneel in front of me.” You scrambled to obey the order, kneeling beside the bed between Brian and the night table. “Hands on your ankles,” he ordered.  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Stay quiet,” he added, so you merely nodded your head. He turned his attention to Justin, stealthily ignoring you.  
  
“Work go okay?” Justin asked as if none of that had just happened.  
  
“Yes, got everything done. No more conference calls to California this week.”  
  
“Well, good.” Justin’s eyes were transfixed on Brian as he undressed. Once he was completely nude, Justin leaned towards you, his hands grasping the back of your hair, “Open your mouth.” You licked your lips and then obeyed the request as Justin steered your face to Brian’s bare cock. Your face bounced forward and backward by their actions alone. Brian’s cock is thick and pushy--with an attitude just like his--and a gritty scent that doesn’t match Brian’s slick suit. You gagged a few times as spit escaped your lips. And when it was over, it was completely over. Brian’s long body descended on Justin’s at that point, and you were ignored again completely though only a foot away.  
  
You kept your eyes pointed down but you could hear every intimate word spoken. The Justin you’d been getting to know had vanished. Brian’s appearance had changed everything. Brian spoke right into Justin’s ear, “This will be what? The third load in your bottom today?”  
  
Justin’s response was mostly an affirmative purring sound, some kind of tribal language between them. His body had retracted, curling around Brian’s form. They made love for almost half an hour; you timed it by discreet glances to a clock on a night table. Half an hour was all you could take in the position you were in, so you focused on Justin’s face, praying that he would lock eyes with you, and the second he did, you didn’t hesitate, “Yellow...Sir.”  
  
“Brian, stop for a second,” he ordered his husband whose face was buried over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked you.  
  
“May I have a pillow for my knees please?” you asked.  
  
“Crap,” Brian muttered, “I’m sorry; I lost track of time. That’s my fault. Come up here with us.”  
  
“I’ll be fine with a pillow,” you emphasized.  
  
Justin reached over and touched your shoulder, “Come up here with us. Don’t make us tell you twice.”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” you said as you got up with your knees popping and before you could walk one step, Justin had you by the arm and was pulling you into the sheets. You landed smack between them. It happened so fast and so skillfully that you imagined you must be the one hundredth man Justin had done that maneuver on. You looked up at both of them staring down at you, markedly more feral than they looked on Saturday night. You felt like a monkey in a laboratory cage, but things move quickly in that bed, and within seconds Brian was back on top of Justin. You prepared yourself to be ignored again while witnessing gratuitous humping. You were focused on Brian, as you found it difficult not to look at him, so it took you a moment to realize that Justin was talking to you, his hand rubbing your skin. “Dill?” Justin said. You turned to look at him and he pulled you down into a kiss, a long kiss that gave you time to get your head back in the game. Justin pulled you out of it by your hair and instructed you, “Lay on my stomach and suck me.” Your participation was mandatory; you were steered into position by Justin and fed his cock by Brian.  
  
The fucking recommenced.  
  
This time Brian was staying mostly vertical, pounding Justin in ways that every bottom everywhere has wet dreams about. The more intense it got, the more they handled you. Brian kept your head in position so you couldn’t pull off, and even when you gagged, he dealt with that himself. It impressed you how he could keep multiple rhythms going, his thumb caressing your cheek every time you choked and reconstituted yourself. For his part, Justin slid his hand up and down your back. The moment his hand curved around your ass, you forgot your place and moaned so loudly that both men laughed a little. “He thinks this is about him,” Brian jested.  
  
“He’s naive, but it’s cute,” Justin added, “I like it.” You wanted to reply but your mouth was full.  
  
By the time the festival of fucking ended, your face was red, slick and shiny, covered in cum and your own spit. Justin got a wet washcloth and cleaned your face, diligently like a mother does. Brian has an eyebrow that moves in ways that fascinate you, and that’s what you were staring at when he asked you, “So, what did you two do tonight before I got here?”  
  
Justin shook his head, “Um, no. You don’t get to ask that question after the note you left us. We can have secrets just like you.”  
  
Still, Brian looked at you for an answer, “Hmmm...maybe that’s fair. Did you have a good time at least?”  
  
You looked at Justin for permission to answer and saw nothing to stop you, “Yes, Sir, we did.”  
  
“You know,” Brian offered, “Why don’t you call me ‘Master’ so we can differentiate. I don’t like that word, but let’s do that for now.”  
  
You nodded in agreement, “Yes, Sir, crap, I mean Master.”  
  
“Now he sounds like that old genie in a bottle show,” Justin remarked.  
  
“Dill,” Brian said, “One day I will explain to you what a decade of _TVLand_ did to obscure Justin’s timeline of televised cultural references.”  
  
“Like _Bewitched_?” you asked.  
  
Justin looked frustrated and a tad insulted, “No, that’s about a witch not a genie.”  
  
“My bad,” you added.  
  
“It’s okay,” Brian seemed eager to move the conversation back to its original topic, “So you had fun?”  
  
You nodded but Justin answered for you, “We had a great time. I think Dill is perfect for us. We did a little pain play with that old crop we have here and brought it back to life. He did well considering he’s new to it.”  
  
Brian asked you point blank, “The pain play was satisfying?”  
  
“Um, yes. Kind of invigorating.”  
  
Justin chimed in winking at you, “And he got a signing bonus for agreeing to this tryst.”  
  
“Yes, I did.”  
  
Brian’s eyebrows converged in a fashion that might be illegal, “What does that mean, a signing bonus?”  
  
“That’s between us,” Justin quipped. Your eyes tracked the electricity between them, zooming back and forth to keep you optimally informed in this bizarre scenario.  
  
Brian responded, “Well, that’s good, but he’s still ridiculously hard so maybe we aren’t quite done with him tonight?”  
  
“I think I worked him pretty hard,” Justin said, adding, “That was a dumb choice of words.” He laughed at himself which made you smile.  
  
Brian spoke to Justin while staring at you, “I would like to be part of a reward, too. I mean, I assume we’re on for tomorrow night so we can celebrate that, right?”  
  
You glanced at Justin as you answered, “Yes, Master,” hoping it didn’t come out sounding too much like a question instead of a statement. “Thank you for inviting me.”  
  
“We’ll send a car for you at six thirty so you’ll be at our place around seven,” Brian added.  
  
“We can reward him if you like. I’m okay with that,” Justin said.  
  
……  
  
And just like that, you were offered up. You knew it; all three of you knew it. And the wheels were clearly turning in Brian’s head so obviously as if his skull was transparent. He looked at you, at Justin, and all around the room. You waited for your fate; your heart thumping loudly again.  
  
And when Brian finally spoke, there was no doubt that you would obey him. Anybody would, you imagined. He began, “Well, I’m thoroughly convinced that you can suck cock effectively.”  
  
“Thank you,” you half-whispered from the comfort of Justin’s arms. You were still his for the moment. He stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head, “Your hair smells so fucking good.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
  
Brian was still on his knees toward the end of the bed calculating his next move. “What I want isn’t here...hmmmm….” he said aloud to no one, and then sighing, “Well, we’ll keep it simple. Get on your hands and knees over him,” he motioned signalling at Justin. Justin released you, his hands trailing off your body and then helping you get positioned, your head resting on his chest. You felt more exposed than before because Brian was focused on you and only you. Justin was so relaxed underneath you, you imagined him on a beach somewhere wearing shades and with a margarita in his hand. Brian spoke to you, his voice sounding deeper than you remembered, his hands on your ass, “So, this medical kink you have, it’s strong, huh?”  
  
“Yes...Master.”  
  
“Let’s just go back to ‘Sir;’ I can’t stand it either.”  
  
Justin piped up, relieved, “Thank you.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
He reached between your legs and cradled your hard cock in his hand, “And you need to come, don’t you?”  
  
“God, yes.”  
  
Justin slid open a drawer, you heard it, and then felt Brian’s heavy body on yours as he reached inside it. He made a point of snapping his latex gloves once they were on. “So you’re okay if I examine you?”  
  
“Very okay...Sir.”  
  
“So last time, we ruined your orgasm on purpose. I won’t do that tonight. You deserve to come; you’ve been very obedient.”  
  
“He really has,” Justin added.  
  
“I would like to explore your ass a little, see if you’re even able to take my cock should the opportunity arise.”  
  
You felt your body temperature rising, “I will take it, Sir. No matter what.”  
  
“Well, that’s certainly the right attitude to have.”  
  
Brian’s hands were slick after that, slick and teasing you, his hand rubbing up and down your crack, his thumb pressing on your asshole. It was driving you mad, and you did a horrible job hiding that fact. He was right; you really did need to come.  
  
He pushed his thumb inside you, and it felt so fucking good. You squeezed it without a thought as a wave of pleasure started to crest. You wanted to resist it. Justin revealed you to Brian, as if that was even necessary, “Brian, he’s trembling.”  
  
“I’m aware,” Brian said, “Whatever you two did earlier was clearly insufficient.” He was kidding, but it wasn’t helping. “Dill, listen to me. Are you listening?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“I want you to control yourself. If you come immediately, I will punish you tomorrow night. Do you understand me?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“I want you to enjoy this; don’t end this in thirty seconds, got it?”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” you echoed.  
  
“Good,” and with that word spoken, Brian filled you with his fingers; it felt so fucking good, you practically squeezed the air out of Justin underneath you.  
  
 _Fuuuuuuck._  
  
Good to be filled, good to be stretched, good to be touched like this. His pacing was perfect; you never wanted for anything that wasn’t satisfied before you even realized you wanted it. He let you fuck his hand for awhile, and you made sure to show your appreciation vocally and otherwise. Justin pressed on your lower back, deepening your arch, and said, “Always present yourself to him; this is why you’re here.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
He continued, “When he lets you come, I want you to unload on me. I want to feel it.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Brian toyed with different fingers in different arrangements until he could tell what you liked the most, and then he put some force behind them and set you free. You didn’t care about how desperate or slutty you looked or actually were; you just closed your eyes, clung to Justin, and brought yourself to a wicked climax. “ _Good boy,_ ” Justin whispered into your scalp as hot white stripes glazed his stomach.  
  
***********  
  
When it was over, the three of you tidied up quickly and drove to campus. You expected Brian to object when Justin got in the back seat with you, but he registered zero negativity. You laid in Justin’s lap and accepted the affection. Once again, Justin walked the long diagonal brick sidewalk with you to the door of your dorm, and then put his hand on your arm, “Listen, I have no idea what Brian has planned for tomorrow night, and I promise you that he won’t tell me. But whatever it is, I expect you to be obedient and appreciative like you were tonight. Can you do that? No matter what?”  
  
You smiled, “Of course. Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy. Thank you for tonight, for all of it. I needed that so badly.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. I’ll show you my studio tomorrow night before we have ‘dungeon time’,” he offered with air quotes and laughter in his voice. “Eat something substantial a couple of hours before you come.”  
  
“Okay, I will. Tell Brian I said thank you, please.”  
  
“I will. Until tomorrow.” Justin hugged you and you hugged him back. “And Dill, one more thing.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“No masturbating or touching yourself without my knowledge from now on. If you feel like you want to, you need to text me for permission.”  
  
“I understand. Thank you, Sir.”  
  
“Okay, later.”  
  
It felt so good to have someone in charge of you even in such a small way. You watched as Justin walked away and even though Brian’s car was far away, he saw you wave and flashed his brights in return. You took the steps to the third floor two by two, anxious to enjoy the satisfied night’s sleep you were going to get, no made up fantasy needed.  
  
***********  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
The ride home was a challenge. You wished you were using the car service because you were so blissed out you wanted to straddle Brian while he was driving and hug him until he suffocated from your love. Unable to hide this from him, he would glance at you now and again and smile knowingly. All bliss aside, however, there was one thing you wanted address with Brian, “Thank you for giving me that time with him and spending some time with him—“  
  
“You’re more than welcome.”  
  
“I wasn’t finished...and fuck you for the two minutes of terror in the mock home invasion.”  
  
Brian let a sly grin slide up his face while never taking his eyes off the road, “I mean, how am I supposed to react when I find you in bed with another man?”  
  
“Oh, you’re so hilarious. You worked your ass off so you’d have _time_ to find me in bed with another man.”  
  
“Hmmm, maybe,” Brian mused, “Either way, I had fun.”  
  
“So did I. I really like him…. And, honestly, I really like the three of us. This feels good.”  
  
Brian took one hand off the wheel and reached for yours, “I like watching you like him. You get that happy blonde glow all around you.” He patted your head.  
  
“Also, I know the only reason you ate his cum off my stomach at the end was because you think twenty-something cum is magic and will make you young again.” (He tried to buy it online one time, and you had to shame him out of it.)  
  
“Just let me have my crazy theories,” Brian complained, “I let you have him.”  
  
(You considered setting up your own website and selling him your cum for fifteen hundred dollars a pop just to see how much money you could siphon from him before he’d figure it out.)  
  
You sighed, “Okay. I guess they’re harmless.” You watched the road for a while, the traffic sparse, the moon bright enough to see the hulking silhouettes of giant trees. “If you could feel how madly in love I am with you right now, your heart would explode right out of your chest.”  
  
“If you could feel how much I love you right now you’d let me make a mold of your ass for a hood ornament,” Brian stated, patting the dashboard.  
  
“I’m being serious and you’re being stupid.”  
  
“License plate holder?”  
  
“Nothing that goes on your car,” you groused.  
  
“Okay, no more jokes, but I’m not kidding about how I feel. One of these new accounts—“  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“That plumbing company. That hetero asshole spends thirty percent of every conversation complaining about his wife and women in general and how much sex he doesn’t get—“  
  
“Uh oh. I trust you are practicing some common sense restraint, Brian.”  
  
“Well, in the beginning he ran his mouth about fags, too—“  
  
“Is he still alive?” you asked.  
  
Brian had a prideful look on his face, “Yes, he lives as long as his money holds out, but a couple days ago he made a crack about how the last blow job he got was three years ago—“  
  
You buried your face in your hands, “Oh god—“  
  
“So I said, ‘You know, funny thing, I got _two_ blow jobs _last weekend_ and only _one_ of them was from my husband.’”  
  
“Brian!”  
  
“What? He brought it up, and it was the truth and I was happy to share. Why does it have to be a secret that I married the most amazing man in the entire world?”  
  
“Don’t do that. Don’t try to woo me away from your egregious behavior.”  
  
“Oh, shut up. You love it. I even rationed my ‘pipe laying’ jokes all week.”  
  
…...  
  
“Wait, was Ted there when you said that about the blow job?” you asked. Brian pretended that he needed to concentrate really hard to pass someone and ignored the question. “Brian?” His lack of response was telling, “Wait, it was more than just Ted wasn’t it? It was Hilary, the new girl?” Brian stayed focused on the road and started washing his windows, squirting way too much window cleaner. “I just met her! Now she thinks I’m a whore who brings you bonus sluts. Jesus, Brian.”  
  
“Theodore is insanely jealous but he tries very hard to pretend otherwise,” Brian declared.  
  
And then it dawns on you, “And there’s _no_ way that Ted doesn’t know that we hang out at _Release_ sometimes. I know you can’t hide that, so he’s probably putting the whole picture together,” you complained, your exasperation and hand motions on full display. “Good God, the only reason you still have a career is because it’s _your_ agency.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Brian explained proudly, “I didn’t say that the other was from a potential sex slave who’s, get this, the same age as my son.”  
  
You pressed all your body weight against your car door in a vain hope that it would pop open and release you from this nightmare, “We’re gonna end up in jail or, worse, as registered sex offenders.”  
  
“Oh please, Justin. You _love_ the way people size you up at Kinnetik and you love that they suspect that you’re more of a sexual deviant than I am.”  
  
“Only Ted suspects that. Don’t make shit up.” Brian rolled his eyes. You added, “Well... everyone thinks I’m at least twenty years younger than you--”  
  
“Watch it, Sunshine.”  
  
“They do, so I guess that makes us even,” you surmised, ready to be done with this conversation.  
  
“Oh, we are never even. That’s the entire basis of our relationship,” Brian confessed.  
  
He’s right and all...for now. You let him win this round.


	40. Negotiations 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published-10/10/20

**NEGOTIATIONS 40  
DILL’S POV**  
  
You lied to your mother about where you were going on Thursday night. You lied to her from the backseat of the Lincoln town car Brian sent for you, pretending you were in an Uber and on your way to a friend’s post-exam party. You were going to have to lie to her a lot from now on. There just wasn’t a way to explain that you were going to the home of a new couple you’d started fucking (etc.) because they have a sex dungeon in their basement. You were a bit nervous about it, too. If they’re going to dismember you and bury your body, this will be the night...probably.  
  
Ugh. You needed that image out of your mind.  
  
The house was huge, a bit imposing, and the doorbell rang throughout the entire house. It was so loud, you jumped in your skin. Justin looked angelic when he opened the door, backlit by a halo of warm light on the brown wood of their foyer. Brian was running late, he said as he took your backpack from you and set it down, “But come in. I’m so glad you’re here. Sorry that doorbell is so aggressive. It’s not an easy fix or it would’ve been long gone, trust me.” Height wise, you fall between Brian and Justin, so when Justin hugged you, he kissed the side of your jaw. “Just you and Brian in this enormous house?” you asked, doing a three sixty turn in the foyer.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Justin said, and then he touched your elbow, steering your gaze to a camera in the corner near the ceiling. “Brian’s watching us. He’s in his car, just left the office, but I want to be upfront about everything. We’re on camera.”  
  
“He’s watching us in his car right now?”  
  
“He can access all the cameras in the house on his phone, so probably. No sound, but a black and white feed.”  
  
“Should I wave?” you asked nervously.  
  
“If you want, but he’s driving, so he’s not watching us intently. It’s just part of the deal so I want to be upfront about it.”  
  
“Were there cameras at the apartment?” you asked fearing the answer.  
  
“No, not yet, but don’t be surprised if that changes,” Justin declared like it was no big deal at all. You went ahead and posed the question at the front of your mind, “If you guys are gonna kill me and chop me up and bury me out here or something, just tell me now, okay?”  
  
“The last time we chopped up a guy, Brian broke a sweat, so we don’t do that anymore. Too much work.”  
  
“Okay, you’re being funny. Okay.”  
  
Justin took your hand in his and squeezed, “I don’t want you to be nervous or uncomfortable. We won’t have to go downstairs tonight if you need time to just acclimate with us. That’s okay. Would you like a drink?” He stepped into a room that had a huge screen on the wall and a maze of navy blue couches. Once you’d surveyed the space, you found Justin behind a tiny bar in the corner that you hadn’t even noticed. “It’s dark in here.”  
  
“It’s a theater. The lights are on the wall right next to you.” You slid the switches up and a nice light filled the space. “What would you like to drink? This isn’t the loft, so we have pretty much everything.”  
  
“Can I have a gin and tonic?”  
  
Justin laughed, “You’re too young to like gin and tonic, but okay. Strong?”  
  
“Please.” He laughed as he made your drink and handed it to you. “Thanks.” Justin poured himself a double shot of the most expensive whiskey you’d ever seen in person. You asked the other question in your mind, “Did you ever find out what--?”  
  
“What Brian has planned? No. All I know is that he left the office half an hour later than he wanted to. He did tell me that he likes you and that he enjoyed last night.”  
  
Justin sat on one of the couches, so you sat next to him as you talked, “I did, too.”  
  
“How about the pain play we did? Any regrets?” Justin asked.  
  
You shook your head, “None at all. I mean, the only thing I disliked was when he scared us to death.”  
  
Justin nodded, “I spoke to him about that. Brian likes to peacock, if you know what I mean.”  
  
“I do,” you answered.  
  
“I told him that part of it was not appreciated,” Justin assured you, “Would you like to see my studio? I actually straightened it up for once.”  
  
“Absolutely. Where is it?”  
  
“Upstairs. This way.”  
  
Justin’s studio blew your mind. It was enormous and the only part of the house you’d seen at that point that was white, all white. In the middle of the room was a huge canvas lying flat on an easel painted an array of aquas and teals. “Is this your current project?” you asked him.  
  
“Yep. It’s in the beginning stages based on a really creepy dream I had about living in a zombie apocalypse.” He froze for a second, and then continued, “The garage door is going up. He’s home.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted. “Just telling him we’re up here so he won’t think we’re already downstairs.”  
  
About five minutes later, you heard footsteps on the stairs. They were exactly the same as the one’s in the loft the night before: commanding, purposeful. Justin touched your shoulder and asked, “Did you eat a couple of hours ago like you were supposed to?”  
  
“Yep,” you lied; you’d shoved two tacos in your mouth right before the car arrived.  
  
“Good.”  
  
***********  
**BRIAN’S POV**  
  
Your ultimate goal since the moment Justin made it clear that focusing on this aspect of your sex life was what would make him happiest was to make this entire process, every minute of it, satisfying to him. The one caveat being that the assessment of his satisfaction might be a bit delayed on his part, but you know how to handle that. And while the particulars change now and again, the goal never does, and tonight was deliberately intended to get you closer to that end goal (nebulus as it is.) You weren’t going to be able to expand the circumstances without giving up some control, but that was to be expected.You were confident that you and Justin were going down the right road. And to be completely honest, having Dill in the picture exposed you to parts of Justin you don’t see that often, and you liked that a lot. And as far as sex slaves go, Dill was well groomed, attractive, intelligent, had a credit score over seven hundred and zero traffic tickets rendering him an opportunity one just doesn’t let pass one by, so there was that.  
  
You were also a little jazzed by a call you received from Rusty earlier that day. Turns out the Doms at Release had noticed Dill that Saturday night and Rusty had let him in as his guest only to find out a week later after they’d put two and two together that Dill had disappeared with you and Justin. (They had video footage. It was only a matter of time.) Rusty’s question confused you at first because he asked you about a guy named ‘Henry,’ so initially you told him he had you confused with someone else. Only after clarification--meaning Rusty gave you the full name he had, Henry Dilworth, did you realize that ‘Henry’ must be Dill’s actual first name. Rusty had apparently been emailing ‘Henry’ as a follow up to encourage membership at Release and wasn’t getting a response. You were intensely pleased about this development.  
  
“Maybe you and Justin can bring him one night?” Rusty offered on the call.  
  
“Hmmm, maybe,” you said, “I’ll check with Justin.”  
  
Aware of Justin’s distaste for him, an answer like that pretty much ended Rusty’s chances, and he knew it. He gave it one last try, “Well, Dave says he needs Justin to stop by and sign a waiver because he’s in that video we shot.”  
  
“Hmm, okay. Just email me the waiver. I’ll have him sign it and email it back,” you counter offered.  
  
“Sounds good,” Rusty replied, unable to hide the deflation in his voice. That particular calling card of your dominance--swiping prey right out from under a rival--hadn’t made an appearance in quite some time, but it still fit like a gloriously expensive hand-knitted sweater on Christmas morning.  
  
You’d been excited all week about your plans for Dill and Justin; they’d been forming after the first night Dill was at the loft. The amount of revenue generating work you had to do was a blessing as it kept you from obsessing about it and playing with yourself in your private bathroom more than once. When you found them together in Justin’s studio, you greeted Justin with a kiss, and Dill with a warm handshake. “You both look really nice tonight,” you offered. “I’m going to change and then I’ll need about fifteen minutes to get everything set up. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”  
  
“Okay,” they replied in unison, laughing at one another’s timing.  
  
You closed your bedroom door to change and were standing in your closet when you heard the knob click. “Justin?” you called.  
  
He appeared in the narrow doorway, “I need to talk to you for a second.”  
  
“Where’s Dill?”  
  
“In the studio. I gave him stuff to look at.”  
  
“Okay, what’s up?”  
  
Justin put his hands behind his back and rested on the door jamb, “He’s a little nervous about being on camera—“  
  
“We’re not going to lie to him,” you emphasized as you peeled your socks off.  
  
“I know. I didn’t tell him you’d be recording sometimes, so you need to break that to him.”  
  
“Okay, no problem. You need to change clothes for me.”  
  
Justin wasn’t expecting that but he pretended otherwise, “Oh, okay. What about Dill?”  
  
“He’s fine. I haven’t had him measured for dungeon pajamas,” you teased.  
  
“He’s a little nervous about going down there with us in a basement dungeon. We need to make him comfortable and not force him.”  
  
“Give him something to drink; help him relax,” you suggested.  
  
“I did, but if I ask you if we can play somewhere else, don’t fight me, okay? I just need to go slow with him because—“  
  
“Of course, that’s fine—“  
  
He persisted, “It’s just that you have something already planned in your head and I don’t want you to get mad—“  
  
You interrupted, “What I have planned can take place anywhere in any room. It’s no problem.”  
  
He exhaled and smiled, “Okay, thanks.” He stepped forward, kissed you, and then rested his head against your bare chest, “Your favorite jeans are clean; they’re right there.” He pointed to a denim stack on your side of the closet.  
  
“Thank you,” you replied, and because he didn’t move, you rubbed his back, “I’ve been looking forward to tonight, you know?”  
  
“Me, too,” he sighed.  
  
“Okay, go entertain him; get him comfortable.”  
  
“Okay,” Justin agreed.  
  
You smiled as he left the closet.  
  
***********  
Prior to that conversation with Justin, you were on the fence about how to begin the evening, undecided about whether to sit them down together or apart to provide some reassurance and guidance. In just twenty four hours, everything you’d expected to happen had happened. The two of them had clearly bonded, and Justin was defining his role on his own terms. Because everything was on track, you made the choice to make the first incision, a minor ‘paper cut,’ in that bond by talking with Dill by himself.  
  
In your favorite jeans and a tight, long sleeve black shirt, you ventured from the dungeon back up to the studio after giving the dungeon a once over. Justin had changed the sheets as you requested, so you just had to make sure the toys and materials you needed were close by. Dill and Justin were pouring over some of his sketches, deep in conversation when you interrupted them with a knock on the open door. “You ready?” Justin asked.  
  
“I’d like to talk to Dill privately in my office first,” you announced.  
  
Justin hid his concerned reaction very well, “Go ahead, Dill. His office is right across the hall.” He pointed to the doorway. Dill’s eyes noted the permission he was being given and followed you as you waved him your direction. Having physically separated them, you stood in the space between and instructed, “Justin, you need to go change now.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Before we--?”  
  
“Yes, now,” you reiterated. You made sure to shut the office door all the way, having already taken the camera in the room offline so Justin couldn’t see the feed if he tried. Dill was far less relaxed once he was alone with you, “Sir, should I kneel?”  
  
“No, no. We’re just going to go over a couple things. Sit,” you offered pointing to the dark brown leather couch.  
  
“Sir, I am constantly impressed by your furniture choices.”  
  
You laughed, “Thank you. Expensive furniture is a bit of an addiction with me.” You sat beside him on the sofa; you wanted to keep him relaxed as you explained that his comfort and positive experience mattered greatly to you, and that he absolutely wasn’t obligated to do anything that felt like a bridge too far.  
  
Dill was straight up with you, “It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with you guys per se; I just don’t really know where I am. I think I crossed the Pennsylvania state line.”  
  
“Ah, okay. You’re in West Virginia, just outside of Pennsylvania.” You wrote the address down and had Dill take a pic of it on his phone. “All phones and WiFi work in all areas of the house. And as Justin said, you’re on surveillance cameras. I want to be upfront and tell you that I will record most of our scenes, ones with me and ones with just you and Justin. For our use only. You have my word.”  
  
“You won’t release them on the internet or sell them to a porn site?”  
  
You laughed. “If they get released, it will only be to you. I’m happy to provide links to any scenes you’d like to rewatch yourself.”  
  
Dill grinned, “Um, that’s a nice offer. I might take you up on that.”  
  
Time to move on, “So, those issues aside, please remember that red, yellow, and green and your safe word will always be respected as will Justin’s as well.”  
  
“Got it. Thank you.”  
  
“So with respect to safe words, there are some actions and reactions that are permitted...and by that I mean... that resistance… or saying no or refusing a command...will only be valid if followed by a safe word. Do you understand what I mean?”  
  
“You mean that I’m allowed to protest and resist within the scene without stopping it?”  
  
He’s quick...very, very quick; you grinned and placed your hand on his knee, “Exactly. But not just you; Justin is allowed to as well; it’s not uncommon at all.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir. I like that,” he paused, and then asked, “And this is something that Justin already knows? I mean, he knows that I know?”  
  
You smiled; this kid is so beyond his years sometimes. “He’s well aware when it’s just us and when I talk with him in a bit, I will make sure he understands.” Dill nodded and looked a bit uncomfortable again, and that was something that you needed to nip in the bud so you tried, “Can you tell me what’s making you nervous...because I don’t want you to feel uneasy.”  
  
“I think it might just be excitement, Sir. I’m not sure. I’m sorry.”  
  
You put your arm on the back of the sofa so your fingers could reach his shoulder, “Are you debilitatingly horny?”  
  
He laughed and blushed, “Ha! Yes, I guess.”  
  
“When I was your age, being horny was almost overwhelming sometimes. I often wonder how I got through college.”  
  
“I compartmentalize really well,” Dill admitted.  
  
You squeezed his shoulder, “That’s a good skill to have. I was a slave to my cock. Age mitigates that at this point, but I could feel my cock throb in my temples sometimes. It was usually above me on the food chain.”  
  
Dill laughed, “Now I can see that in my head.” You smiled, and he continued, “Sir, I really like Justin a lot. Like as a person, I mean. I enjoy being around him. Oh my god---” He blurted out the words and looked mortified that he’d done so, but you reassured him, “Good. That’s what I want. You seem to be making him happy, and that is all that matters to me, dungeon or no dungeon.”  
  
“It’s just a weird situation. Not like bad weird, just--”  
  
“Unique.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
You wanted to get Dill on board and out of your office, so you explained, “Here’s the thing: Justin and I have been together for a long time, and we’ve been through a lot together. And on top of that, we fucked a lot of random guys. In those days, we didn’t even know their names or hook up with anyone twice...on purpose. It was a rule. But we’re in a new phase now, and in this phase, I don’t let anyone in our bubble without a little investigation and a healthy amount of trust, and I trust you. He trusts you. And I want you to understand that there’s going to be a substantial intensity to what we...all...do together that I doubt you’re used to.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“It may not seem that way at first, but every decision I make is for him. I know what he needs. I think you’ll enjoy it, and remember that you have a say in this; we want you to be happy as well, so all we have to do is communicate. The minute we don’t all three stay in sync; this falls apart, and I don’t want that.”  
  
Dill’s face wore a serious expression, “I feel like I’ve given you guys the impression that I’m a nervous wreck. I’m not. It’s just anticipation and a lot to take in at once.”  
  
“Absolutely. I’m glad you’re excited. All I want to get across is that regardless of what’s going on in a particular moment, neither Justin nor I would trade that for your comfort and enjoyment.”  
  
“Thank you. I’m fine now. I appreciate you taking time to talk to me.”  
  
“My pleasure. Please ask Justin to come in here and then go sit at the top of the stairs and wait for us.” As Dill got up, you stopped him, “Dill, what about your schedule? Do you need to be out of here at a particular time?”  
  
“No, Sir. I’m completely open. I don’t have anything until class on Monday morning.”  
  
“Great, send him in, and Dill?”  
  
“Yes, Sir?”  
  
“That trust I just talked about, you need to extend that to me tonight, got it?”  
  
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”  
  
***********  
Justin entered the room and closed the door with his arms crossed and his phone tucked inside them. He leaned against the door, his weight on his shoulder. You sat on the side arm of your sofa and reached for his phone, wriggling it out of his grasp. “What? What are you doing?” he asked.  
  
You tapped the screen to see his open apps, and, sure enough, he had tried to access the video feed. You shook your head as you gave it back to him. He looked down, embarrassed. “I know I’m in trouble for that,” he said quietly.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“How did it go with him?”  
  
“Fine. It’s just nervous excitement. And I talked to him about con-non-con but not in those exact words.”  
  
“What did he say?”  
  
“He likes it,” you confirmed, “Which is exactly what I expected. What I didn’t expect, however, is the full erection you have inside these pants.”  
  
Justin appeared flustered as he watched you lower the front of his gray pants, releasing his cock. He defended himself, “You won’t let me wear underwear. How am I supposed to hide it?”  
  
You stroked him and he moaned in protest like someone who’s been tickled too much. “Brian, c’mon.”  
  
“It’s so smooth and beautiful, and probably for me, right?”  
  
He sighed, “Yes, of course.”  
  
“Because I made you mad,” you surmised.  
  
“Okay, whatever. He’s waiting.”  
  
You stopped and put his cock away, patting his waist as you returned his pants to their rightful position. “Lose the attitude. Understand?”  
  
“Yes...Sir.”  
  
“Good. Let’s go show our guest a good time.”


	41. Negotiations 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10/18/20-Originally published
> 
> Okay, folks! With this chapter, you're now caught up with the current timetable on this story. From this point on, your comments are beloved and fuel my muse and keep her writing. Thank you in advance. :) ~Plum

**NEGOTIATIONS 41  
BRIAN’S POV**  
  
You and Justin completed the rest of your house tour with Dill by opening the door to the basement. “Ready?” Justin asked him.  
  
“Yep, let’s do it.” He was much more relaxed. You walked behind both of them as they descended the wooden stairs. Justin stopped at the bottom of the steps to inform Dill, “Okay, this part’s weird. We have to go through the wine cellar to get to the dungeon. He opened the door, and Dill took in the entire dark paneled room. “You guys have a buttload of wine.”  
  
“We do,” Justin agreed. You thought about Justin’s literal ‘buttload of wine’ enema, and how funny/horrifying it would be to have those bags hanging down here right now. At the door to the dungeon, Justin paused and looked over his shoulder and smiled at Dill before opening the door to the gray cinderblock room. The lights were on, the black sheets were turned down on the wrought iron canopy bed, and the examination table had a fresh paper covering on it, something you’d ordered for your new acquaintance. Dill wandered in, his hands running across everything as if seeing it just wasn’t enough.  
  
***********  
 **DILL’S POV**  
  
It wasn’t what you expected. You sort of thought it would be a more unfinished space filled with random wooden platforms and homemade torture devices. But, the room was special just like every other room in their house. It was inviting with a nice foreboding after taste. The medical table in the far corner of the room was surrounded by vintage metal cabinets in that old timey aqua appliance hue. You appreciated that attention to detail.  
  
Behind you was a gorgeous fireplace burning, and when Brian saw you staring at it, he said, “It’s April, so there’s no heat pumping into the room. Tonight it’s just for ambiance.”  
  
“Sir, that must’ve cost a small fortune to install in a basement.”  
  
“He doesn’t care about that,” Justin griped, “He has a fireplace fetish. Gas, wood, gratuitous candelabras...it doesn’t matter. We have three in our house and that’s only because I wouldn’t let him put one in the kitchen.”  
  
“Or the theater,” Brian quipped, “I’m still gonna do that one day.”  
  
“He’d put one in our linen closet if there was space. He has no self-control when it comes to home furnishings,” Justin declared.  
  
You smiled at Brian who seemed proud of this particular character flaw, “It’s true,” he shrugged, “I’m out of control.”  
  
You laughed at his description, “I can’t imagine you being out of control...ever.”  
  
“Speaking of control,” Brian replied tapping on the surface of a round black table, “Silence your phones and put them face down on the table.” You and Justin complied as you noticed that next to the table was one imposing black leather chair and then a black dresser that was pressed against the corner wall holding unlit white candles bunched together on a silver tray. Overall, the room was overcrowded furniture-wise; there was little space between the bed and the medical table. And then you saw the bathroom, that same aqua hue tiled floor to ceiling. Immediately upon stepping inside, you felt like you were underwater. You made note of the double headed shower and large stack of fluffy gray towels. If this really was a kidnapping, there were worse places to be held. Justin came up behind you, slinking his arm around your waist. You held his hand and listened to his words, “Time for you to get undressed.” You turned around and saw that Brian was sitting comfortably in the big black leather chair. He spoke with a glass of liquor in his hand which had materialized out of nowhere, “You two have ten minutes.” He appeared to set an alarm on his phone and set it on the table.  
  
In a hushed voice, you asked Justin as he was dispensing with your clothes, “Until what?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Justin whispered back. As you shed the last of your clothing and became the only nude man in the room, Justin pulled you several steps away from Brian, locating the two to the more roomy side of the bed. Justin took your hand and put it inside his pants, rubbing your grip up and down his cock. As his pleasure became obvious, he looked up at you, kissed you and then said, “You okay? You seem okay to me?”  
  
“Yeah, he reassured me, too,” The two of you fell back in the bed and made out with gusto as if Brian wasn’t sitting five feet away and watching, or, you thought, maybe because he was.  
  
“Good. I’ll make sure that you’re taken care of tonight. Don’t worry,” Justin said, his hand smoothing over your face.  
  
“I’m not worried. I’m excited.”  
  
“Me, too,” Justin admitted, offering you an immense amount of affection.  
  
Brian got up when his alarm went off, and you watched him surreptitiously as he walked over to the closet and opened the accordion door. Seconds later, a full length mirror emerged which Brian carried to the other side of the bed and positioned between the mattress and the medical table. He caught you watching him and winked. Justin looked up and saw it, or rather himself in it, and then hung his head.  
  
“What’s the matter?” you whispered.  
  
Justin wouldn’t answer you because Brian had circled back and was standing at your feet undressing. “On your back,” Brian ordered Justin so he rolled off of you and laid beside you. Brian, now completely undressed, leaned down and slid Justin’s pants off. He smiled widely as he toyed with Justin’s hard cock and dispensed the first clue about your evening’s activities, “So...tonight Dill’s getting an education, and you’re going to be the visual aide.”  
  
***********  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
You’d waited all day for this, all week really, and every cell in your body was on alert. Lying beside Dill, both of you with your knees bent and open, you reached for Dill’s hand and squeezed it because you could feel Brian sucking up all the power in the room through some imaginary straw. You asked your husband, “What does that mean, a visual aide?”  
  
Brian wrapped his hands around your thighs and tugged you to the edge of the bed like he was about to fuck you. You got an answer to your question instead, “Any pleasure you want to bestow upon Dill tonight, you’ll have to earn on his behalf.”  
  
“Oh….”  
  
“Because while I’m very glad that we found him and brought him home, your time with him is never free.” (You wondered about bringing Josh in and how come he didn’t have to pay a cost for that, but you didn’t ask because you were sufficiently dominated and Brian would probably just say that he’d accrued a lifetime of skeeball tickets at arcades with Michael in the before time so he can do whatever he wants.) Brian continued, his hands curved around the top crease of your legs, “So the first thing you’re going to do is tell Dill why we need this room in the first place.”  
  
You looked up at Brian as he held you firmly in place and gave the only answer you could think of, “Because I need to be across your lap.” You hoped that was the right answer.  
  
“And why is that?” Brian pushed.  
  
You glanced at Dill who offered a small smile to you and then back at Brian’s expectant expression, “Because I...need to be...spanked.”  
  
Brian grinned and praised you, “Good boy.” You could feel your face reddening and tried to imagine dumping ice water on your head to make that sensation go away. “There’s a little more to it,” Brian explained to Dill, “But that’s a good start.” And then he looked back at you, “The rest you’ll show him.”  
  
***********  
 **DILL’S POV**  
  
It was time to move. Brian instructed you to get up and sit back against the headboard, and then he walked to the other side of the bed where the mirror was and joined you meaning the two of you were basically side by side. He patted his leg and Justin came over to him; he straddled Brian’s legs and laid against his chest. Brian spoke to him in a sweet voice you’d never heard him use, his hands rubbing up and down his back, “Any time you waste now comes off your time with him, so it’s in your best interest to get this over with.”  
  
“Please don’t do this to me,” Justin implored.  
  
“You did this to yourself. Did you think that you would bring somebody into our bed and not pay a price for it? You’re smarter than that,” Brian explained. Frozen next to them, part of you wanted to dissolve out of the picture, and another part wanted to, well, masturbate. You crossed your legs and tucked your hands in your lap, hiding your self-stimulation. It wasn’t difficult; they were proceeding once again like you weren’t even there. Brian continued, “He came all this way, conquered his nerves, and you’re being rude making him wait.”  
  
Justin’s eyes flitted upward to your face, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” you said as quietly as you could, but not quietly enough. Brian turned his head and spoke to you firmly, “It’s one hundred percent not your call.”  
  
His voice felt like a surprise bolt of lightning in your heart, “Yes, Sir. I apologize, Sir.” You felt actual pain in your chest from his reprimand which you attempted to massage away.  
  
“Justin,” Brian attempted again, “You do have one other option though. You can waste more of my time, and we’ll still do this only I’ll send him home right after.”  
  
Justin looked mortified as he raised his head from Brian’s shoulder, “No.”  
  
“Okay then,” Brian offered, his eyebrows raised in expectation. Justin began to move and eventually, he was bent over Brian’s lap. You straightened your legs to give him space on the sheets to lay his head.  
  
***********  
 **JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
The spanking Brian gave you was intense. The mirror amplified all of it, broadcasting your humiliation to Dill in real time. Brian narrated it, too, demonstrating what benefit you get from his hand, then a hairbrush, and finally, a small wooden paddle. He pointed out crudely how various parts of your body respond to his touch. He donned a glove, made it slick with lube and fingered you hard—right to the edge over and over—so that Dill could see you beg and plead with him to stop. And every time he stopped, it was time for more pain. You didn’t have to see your own skin to know how bad it was; you could feel the bright red hue raising your body temp in real time. The objection you raised when he picked up the paddle earned you a bar between your knees to keep your legs apart. Humiliated and with your emotions sufficiently scrambled, you felt a tear well up and spill down your face. By that time, your head had migrated to Dill’s lap, so he wiped it away. He’d been allowed to comfort you minutes before after Brian explained to him how the pain wasn’t being felt anymore, “It’s an abstraction now. He’s running on pure endorphins; he has an envious stock pile of them. He should probably be studied.”  
  
At one point, Brian made Dill thank you for the pain you were tolerating, “Because he’s suffering like this for you. You better respect the fuck out of that.”  
  
“I do, Sir,” he assured him as he pet your now sweat-dampened hair.  
  
And then at the precise moment that you felt the urge to cry out in pain or humiliation or something, Brian pushed a plug inside you so that the pleasure would short-circuit everything else. “Keep your bottom up,” Brian warned you,” “You’re teaching your friend how to behave.” You hung your head and looked between your legs at Dill’s hand stroking you and at Brian’s hand raising the paddle again. A few hard snacks and you came, submitting to an unrelenting amount of pressure between your legs. The bar released, your posture collapsed, and your body ended up between them in the sheets. Brian was fucking you, cursing in your ear about how hot and tight you were, and Dill was against your chest, holding you tightly and providing the resistance Brian needed. Moments before he came, Brian’s hand slid up your chest and around your throat, pulling you back against him, “What a perfect pain slut you are, Sunshine.”  
  
You cringed at the mention of that nickname, realizing that ninety percent of the time you hear it, something carnal is occurring. But, then you remembered that you were in bed with a guy named Dill, so who cares? When Brian was done with you, you let go of everything and surrended, falling into a marshmallow cloud of warm bliss.  
  
***********  
 **DILL’S POV**  
  
You weren’t ready for what happened next. Brian reached over Justin and tapped your shoulder, a condom between his fingers. “Are you sure?” you asked, “I don’t want to hurt him.” You were still in a bit of shock at what you’d witnessed.  
  
“Remember earlier when I told you to trust me tonight?” Brian asked  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Then trust me. Put it on.”  
  
While you did as instructed, Brian positioned Justin so you could spoon him. You studied Brian’s face as you pushed inside Justin who moaned, a sound that refused to identify itself as pleasure or pain. “Good boy,” Brian told you or maybe Justin or maybe both of you, his hand on your shoulder. You wanted to ask Justin if you were hurting him, but you were too nervous. His skin was hot against your abdomen all the way down to your thighs. It felt so insanely good that it competed with the warmth your dick felt inside him. With your fingers on his thigh bone, Justin purred as you fucked him. You felt fizzy with pleasure; it was almost confusing. “Easy,” Brian warned you, “Take your time; this is for him.”  
  
You whispered back, “How does he take that much pain?”  
  
Brian replied, “Take it? He craves it. He has an amazing ability to convert pain and humiliation into pleasure; you’re inside him right now, but, in a way, he isn’t even really here.”  
  
“This is subspace that he asked me about?”  
  
“Yep, he’s floating free, and the longer he stays full, the happier he is.” Justin reached for Brian after hearing his voice, and Brian placed Justin’s arms around his neck and moved in closer until the two of you had completely sandwiched all of him. You concentrated on how you were thrusting into him, deep, long and measured but flashes of the scene you’d just witnessed kept playing in your mind as well as the fact that Justin has gone through all that for you. Brian pulled you in to kiss you. His tongue was soft in your mouth; you tasted a hint of ash and felt a stirring between your legs. “Sir, that’s gonna make me come,” you protested to him. Brian kissed you again, harder, and this time you just gave in to it. His hand ran down to your ass, pushing you deeper inside Justin. “You earned this,” he assured you, “And so did he, so fuck him like you mean it.”  
  
Justin arched his back and reached back for you, his hand curling around your neck. You’d never felt that much ecstasy bleed out of someone before. Brian whispered things to Justin that you pretended you couldn’t hear because they were not at all meant for you. You stared into the mirror instead which was showcasing the muscles in Brian’s back. You weren't exactly sure of the rules in this situation so you asked Brian for permission to come. He nodded and you did, giving Justin up when you finished. His eyes were closed in Brian’s arms. He kissed his way up to Brian’s ear and said a hushed, “I love you.”  
  
“Thank our friend as well,” Brian encouraged him, “That was a team effort.” Justin turned and looked at you, wearing the most indulgent smile you’d ever seen on a man’s face. His eyes were black drops of oil; the traces of blue had all but disappeared.


	42. Negotiations 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I said in earlier chapters, I'm now posting here in real time. Enjoy and please let me know you your thoughts.

**NEGOTIATIONS 42**

**DILL’S POV**

_forty minutes later_

Justin awoke by launching a sneeze against your chest. You immediately stopped the game you were playing on your phone, “Bless you! And hello.”

He looked around confused, “Where’s Brian? I think your chest hair was tickling my nose.”

“Um, he said to tell you that he’s, ‘On his Slack channel riding some asses,’ for about an hour. He said you’d know what that means.”

Justin yawned, stretching one arm up, “Yeah. How long ago was that?”

“About twenty minutes. He also said that I should offer you a snack and make sure you drink something...like water. He specifically said no wine.”

Justin laughed a little before his lips formed a sweet smile, “Aw, he told you to take care of me.”

You nodded, “Yes. He gave you to me, covered you up, dimmed the lights and gave me lots of instructions.” You didn’t tell Justin that there had been so many that, when Brian left the room, you’d immediately logged them on your Notes app:

_keep warm_

_morphine-like brain will come down_

_temp drop_

_BP drop_

_lightheaded_

_snacks_

_if upset or pain, text asap_

Justin’s body elongated again, both arms this time, before he spoke, “Mmm. That’s sweet. I can’t believe I slept that hard.”

You blurted out the rest unsolicited, talking faster than you could modulate, “Well, Brian said you burnt up all your adrenaline being excited about today the way a kid does before his birthday party. You were drooling on him, you were so asleep.”

Justin rolled his eyes as he rolled onto his back, “Wow. He did, huh? C’mere. I wanna feel you.” He tugged on your arm, pulling you until you laid on top of him. His skin was still ridiculously warm and smooth. He touched your cheek with his fingertips and then kissed you. He ran his hand down your back and pressed down, “Stop resisting. Put your full weight on me. I said I want to feel you.”

You confessed as you tried to let yourself relax, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re a little freaked out about what we did?” Justin asked quietly as he kissed your chin.

You were honest, “I mean, I’ve never seen somebody take that much pain and not seem to feel it. That was fucking intense.”

“I feel it; I just get to a point where my brain no longer processes it as pain. I feel pleasure instead.”

“You were almost crying—“

“I’m okay. That was just a release.”

“If you say so.”

Justin sighed, “Listen, Brian knows what he’s doing. He brought me to that point gradually and carefully, and above all, purposefully. He took me where I wanted to go. Was it the mirror that freaked you out? Being able to see it up close?”

“I’m not freaked out. I’m just kind of…. I mean, I didn’t know what was going to happen and all, but to see that you took all that for me—“

“Rest assured that you’re worth it, and that I’m very used to it,” Justin emphasized in a way that gave you a squishy warm rush for a few seconds.

”Thank you. I mean, clearly, that wasn’t your first rodeo or his. That was very obvious.” And then you remembered, “Brian, does he smoke?”

Justin stopped, his head cocked, “Why are you asking me that? Did he light up when I was asleep?”

“No, no, because he kissed me, and I think I tasted it.”

Justin looked relieved, “He does, supposedly never more than two a day, and he would be mortified that you could tell, so please don’t say anything to him.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Justin added, “You got to fuck me. Didn’t you like that?” Before you could form an answer, he was kissing you again, letting you know that conversation was stalling out. Minutes passed before you could respond, “Like it? I’ve never felt anything like that—“

“Good, let’s do it again,” Justin offered.

“ _Again?_ Aren’t you—?”

“I’m fine. Get a condom.”

You opened the drawer he was pointing to and retrieved one, “I feel like I should be more careful than this. Are you sure?”

“Okay, I’m going to give you my rationale for this in the form of a math problem. You’re a stats major, you can handle it,” Justin proposed.

“Okay.”

“Two part math problem. Part one: how old are you?”

You answered, “Twenty-two.”

“Excellent. Part two: You are twenty-two, therefore, how old is your cock?”

“Uh— twenty-two?”

“Bingo. You have a cock in its mid-twenties. I have an ass that would like to give a cock in that particular demo a temporary parking space...right now.”

You blurted out the truth, “Justin, I don’t know if I’m...allowed to—“

Justin’s body stiffened as he stopped administering affection, his hand firmly wrapped around your shoulder, “Excuse me?”

He did not look happy. You tried, “I’m sorry. I really am. I just—“

“Brian terrifies you, doesn’t he?” he asked rhetorically, but you nodded anyway as you continued your info dump, “I mean, he gave me all these instructions about keeping you warm because your body temp would drop and not to let you stand up too fast, but he didn’t say anything about fucking you again...Sir.”

Justin looked from side to side, licked his lips, closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them and responded, “Okay, listen to me. Eventually, Brian will make his way back down here, and when he does, I can either tell him you took good care of me or that you don’t know how to follow simple instructions. Which narrative do you want me to go with?”

“Justin—“

“ _Sir.”_

“I mean, Sir—“

“Which one do you want? It’s your choice.”

“The first one.”

“Good boy. Put it on.”

You did. You fucked him again, and just as you were getting your groove calibrated, Justin wrapped his legs around your waist and squeezed you like a drug store blood pressure machine. You felt a tingle as all the blood left your toes. You stopped thrusting, “It hurts?” you asked.

He grinned and shook his head, “No, I’m not a china doll. I want to talk about you.”

“What about me? Am I doing it in a way you don’t like?”

“No, that’s impossible,” he laughed a little, “There’s no way you could fuck me that I wouldn’t like. Trust me—.” You started to respond and were discouraged; Justin pressed his index finger to your lips, “ _Shhhhh_. You’re not in charge here, so just listen, got it?” You nodded. “Good. Now, as I said before, Brian will make his way back down here, and before that happens, I need to know what you want tonight.”

“Okay.”

Justin pointed to the exam table, “See that paper on that table?”

“Yes.”

“That’s new. He bought that just for you. I guarantee you that he’s ready to give you an experience on that table. Is that what you want tonight? You don’t have to, but I know him well enough to know how he thinks. He’s probably bought other things I don’t even know about. I need to know more about this medical kink you have, what direction it leads, okay?”

The subject made you uncomfortable which you tried to hide at first, “Okay.”

“Great. For instance, I’m assuming we can rule out a fetish for a pretend appendectomy or heart transplant?” You laughed, and Justin smiled, “There’s the Dill I know. Come down from your anxiety attic.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“No need to be sorry. Just talk to me.”

“Okay.”

“So ruling out those things and moving on; is this a blood fetish? Is this about needles and blades and bloodletting?”

You shook your head vigorously. Justin continued, “Okay, crossing that off. This is about playing doctor then?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Enemas?” he asked.

“Maybe, not tonight,” you clarified.

“Because you did that earlier today?”

“Yes,” you admitted, sufficiently blushing.

“So an examination would be fun?” Justin continued to probe. You couldn’t answer him; your throat constricted, so you just buried your face over his shoulder in a pillow you’d never appreciated more. He soothed you, his hands rubbing your back, “Okay, it’s okay. I understand.”

It’s one thing (apparently) to text with strange men about these particulars, but face to face with him…completely different. You grunted in frustration at your own hesitation, and somehow he completely knew what you meant, “Dill, it’s okay. We want to give you what you want, but there’s no rush at all. I promise.” The amount of heat coming off your face legitimately should’ve set the pillow on fire. Justin kept at it, “We don’t even have to stay down here if it’s too overwhelming. We can go upstairs and watch a movie, order a pizza. Whatever you want.” Granted, a pizza sounded really good, but not as good as your other opportunities were at that moment. “Can you look at me?” Justin tried. You lifted your head fearing that he might not recognize you in what felt like a raw exposed state. “Are you green, yellow or red?” Justin asked you.

You took a deep breath and really considered his question, “Green, Sir.”

“Are you sure? You have to be honest with me about this.”

“I’m green, Sir. I don’t want tonight to end.”

“It doesn’t have to end regardless of color. We can adapt.”

“Light green.” Justin kept staring at you, waiting, you supposed, for the truth, so you tried again, “Sort of like an unripe banana….”

He smiled, “Okay, thank you. How about this? We finish fucking and just take a break. It’ll give you time to collect your thoughts,” Justin suggested. 

“Okay. But I feel bad like I’m derailing this whole thing—.“

“Dill, you have to give yourself permission to feel what you feel. I don’t ever want you to be uncomfortable. That would hurt me, and it would upset Brian. Honesty doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Okay,” you said with too much skepticism in your voice.

“You have to trust me. If you don’t think you can, then we need to go back a few steps.”

“I trust you. Of course, I do,” you clarified because you did.

“Good, can you come?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Then fuck me; I like having you inside me.” Once you put your mind to it, it didn’t take long at all. And fuck, hearing him moan underneath you was like the fucking Fourth of July. 

…

Justin put on his pajamas as you were looking at your phone, “Oh fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My mom has called and texted a bunch. Shit. It’s probably nothing. We’re just close.”

“Okay, I’m going up to check on Brian. You call her back, and then, either wait here or get a snack in the kitchen. Whatever you want. You can text me.” He waived his phone back and forth.

“Okay, sorry about this,” you expressed. 

“Dill, sorry is bullshit. It’s not necessary. See you in a minute.” Justin gave you a sweet kiss from his perch on the side of the bed, started to get up and then sat back down, his hand on your chest, “Also, I like the way you fuck me. You should know that you have a more than satisfactory cock.”

All you could think was that he’s used to _Brian’s_ cock, so…

_Wow._

***********

**JUSTIN’S POV**

You took both flights of stairs slowly and deliberately; your bare feet making no noise in the process. As you got closer to Brian’s office, you could hear the deep tones in his voice through the walls. Worried that he might be on Zoom, you texted him and then tapped lightly on th door. 

“Come in,” you eventually heard. As you entered the room, Brian was turning off his monitor. “Hey, perfect timing, I’m all done.”

You walked in, “Good evening, Professor.”

Brian looked confused as he extended his hand to you, “Come again?” 

“That education you gave to Dill? You crammed too much into one class,” you explained as Brian welcomed you onto his lap. Concern covered his face, “Why, what’s wrong?” 

“You should’ve stayed or woken me up before you left. That was a lot for him to process alone.”

“Oh shit. You mad at me?” he asked.

“No, I’m not mad. Just don’t do that again while this is new. He gets caught up in his own head, and he’s sort of terrified of you.”

Brian grinned a tad too evilly, “Yeah, I noticed that.”

“And you’re getting off on it, too,” you pointed out.

Brian brought his index finger and thumb close together to indicate, “Just a smidge.”

“You’re incorrigible sometimes.”

“I know, but how’s your ass?” Brian inquired.

“Sublime, as always.” He hugged you tightly and kissed your neck. “You were almost perfect,” Brian added, “Behavior-wise.” You rolled your eyes; you were more than perfect. And then he leaned in and turned his monitor back on, exposing his view of the dungeon in a lower right window. He maximized it and you both saw Dill halfway under the covers and texting. “He looks okay to me,” Brian said. 

“So you were watching us the whole time?” you asked.

“Well,” Brian conceded, “I tried, but I couldn’t concentrate on my work so I had to stop.”

You punched his bicep, “Good, serves you right for leaving me.”

“I had to do this. This presentation has to go flawlessly.”

“So does tonight,” you reminded him as you explained your brief conflict with Dill and how you resolved it. You ended with, “I even color checked him. He’s a quote ‘unripe banana,’ so I suggested we take a break.”

Brian had, in his own best interest, listened to your every word and came to the conclusion you wanted, “You’re right; tonight has to go perfectly. So what do we do next?”

You studied Brian’s face carefully, “Like you don’t already have a plan? I know you. I know you do.”

“Okay, maybe,” Brian admitted, “But I need a favor first.”

You sighed and started your dismount from his lap, making your way to your knees. Brian started to laugh as he pulled you back up, “No, no, not a blow job. I’m hungry. I never really ate. Will you make me a sandwich?”

You looked at the clock on his wall, “You want a sandwich with actual bread after nine p.m.?”

“Roast beef and cheese?” Brian asked.

“Is this a joke or for real?” you asked because you really weren’t sure.

“Real, and could you grill it?”

You were convinced, although you briefly considered putting your ear to his stomach to see if it was growling, but you didn’t because that would probably end up in a blow job as well. “Okay, sure. Now, I’m hungry, too. I’ll just make a snack for all of us. Can I film you eating this for our tIme capsule?”

“Ha, ha. No, but thank you,” he pulled you close and bumped your nose with his, “You made me so proud tonight.”

“Aw, I think the real you is still at work and this is a doppelgänger, but I’ll play along. Where do you want to eat?”

Brian thought for a moment before he answered, “In the theater. Let’s find out what Dill wants to eat and then he and I are going to have a little meeting while you cook.”

***********  
 **BRIAN’S POV**

You had now spent enough time with Dill to begin to understand his psyche a little better, and you decided that the worst thing you could do to Dill (thus far) was to give him too much of a mental lead on a metaphorical leash. He needed to be more tightly controlled for his own mental health, at least in these first few encounters. As you stood in your kitchen watching Justin pull meat and cheese out of the fridge, you texted your basement dweller:

_Hey, come up. Snack break. Robe for you in 3rd dresser drawer._

The response you got back came quickly:

_Yes, Sir._

You turned towards Justin who was laying out your bread options. You pointed to the one you wanted, “That one. Find out what he wants, and then send him to me in the theater.”

“Okay. Be careful with him please,” he requested. 

“I will. Also, I want a pickle, but no chips.”

“Okay. Just seeing you willing to eat anything this late is kind of turning me on,” Justin admitted. 

You winked at him, “And will you burn it a little, the way I like?”

“Damn it, Brian! I just came in my pants.”

“Well, that’s what you get for wearing pants, isn’t it?” you offered as you laughed at your blond chef and pointed at the sound coming from the basement door, “Here he comes,” before walking out of the room. 

……

You leaned against a dark paneled wall, out of sight, and listened to their conversation. When asked what meat he wanted, Dill answered, “Ham, please.” He seemed very enthused about a sandwich. You overheard Justin, “Brian’s in the theater. You can go hang out with him while I make these.”

“I’m happy to stay and help,” Dill offered.

Justin played it exactly right, “I’m good. He said he wants to see you. Hand me that frying pan over your head.”

“This one?”

“The bigger one next to it.”

“Here you go.” And then seconds of silence until Dill asked Justin, “Am I in trouble with him?”

“I don’t think so. Did you disobey him?” Justin asked, intentionally leaving any foreboding tone out of his voice. A mischievous smile crept up the sides of your face. 

“No,” Dill defended.

“Well, then, I’m sure there’s nothing to be concerned about. Do you want a pickle with your sandwich?”

“Uh, sure…guess I’ll go see him.”

“Okay, it’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.” (That scheduling message was for you. Justin knew you were listening.)

You made quick and quiet steps to the theater and sat down before Dill had left the kitchen. As you heard him approaching, you texted Justin with instructions:

_Cut all of his food into 1” bites. Bring water, closed cup, straw._

Justin responded with a thumbs up.

***********

Dill appeared in the wide theater doorway in the dark gray robe you’d given him. “Hello, Sir.”

“Hey, come here,” you motioned.

As he stood in front of you, you leaned forward with your elbows on your knees. He was sufficiently nervous, just as you wanted him to be. You untied his robe, pleased that he hadn’t put anything on underneath it. You wrapped your hand around his half-hard cock and squeezed, your gaze moving up his body to his face before you asked, “So, did you take care of him as I instructed?”

“Yes, Sir.” You could tell he wasn’t being completely honest, but that was okay because you needed time with all sides of this kid. His cock wasn’t responding to your touch either. 

“Good. Take this off,” you instructed, letting his robe fall off of his slim shoulders. He stepped out of the fabric pooling at his feet and laid his robe on a different section of the sofa before resuming his position in front of you. You pointed to a spot a little further away from you and to the left, “Kneel down and keep your legs open.” Dill complied, immediately staring at the floor when you got up. You opened an ottoman near you and removed four leather cuffs connected by a few feet of chain. Speaking only a few words, “Lace your hands behind your head,” you applied the cuffs to his ankles and wrists and connected them with just under three feet of chain running down his back. He didn’t have to keep his hands in the requested position, but he didn’t really have enough slack to position them any other way unless he just let them rest on his shoulders. He was too nervous to do that. You sat down in front of him again, this time with your face closer to his, “I know everything that happened down there, so I’m going to ask you again, did you take care of him as I instructed you to?” 

“I tried to, Sir.”

“What does that mean?”

Dill’s voice was delightfully shaky, “He wanted me to fuck him, Sir, so I did.”

“Okay….”

“But you didn’t say that I should do that, so I hope I didn’t—“

“He asked you to?” you clarified.

“Yes, he said he wanted to do it...again.”

You had to keep yourself from cracking a smile, “If Justin asks you to do something, you should do it, and he shouldn’t have to convince you.”

“Well, I considered that as well; my reasoning was a little tardy, I guess.”

“If that happens again, if he needs something from you and you find yourself conflicted, your conflict will be with me. Understood?” A few patches of red flared on his neck and chest at your insistence. 

“Yes, Sir.”

You stood up and unzipped your jeans, and pulled your cock out, nice and hard thanks to his trepidation. Sitting back down, you pulled Dill’s face in and stuffed your cock in his mouth as far as you could, causing him to gag. You held him there firmly, making sure he couldn’t breathe, only letting go when his body began to jerk. “What did you taste?” you asked him as he coughed and recovered, his elbows still butterflied out beside his head. Spittle ran down his chin. “Your cock...Sir.”

You grabbed him again, this time more roughly, smashing his face into your crotch a second time. His body twisted beneath the pressure, resisting you when he could no longer breathe. You yanked him off again causing copious amounts of drool to drop on his chest. You asked him again, “Try again. What do you taste?”

Dill shook his head in despair, refusing to make eye contact with you as he whispered, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

You pulled him up a little so you could be almost face to face with him, his wet chin propped up by your hand, “What you’re tasting is Justin’s freshly spanked ass that I fucked before leaving him with you. You need to memorize that taste and get used to it because that flavor is your foreseeable future. And you better appreciate the fact that you get to fuck it at all. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“Good.”

You knew Justin was waiting on the other side of the wall; you could see part of his foot. You put your cock away and greeted him as he came in with three plates. He remained nonplussed about Dill’s current predicament as if he wasn’t naked and bound on the floor and set his plate in front of him on the ottoman. “Here you go, grilled cheddar cheese and ham.” You studied Dill’s face as he processed the tiny bites his sandwich was reduced to. Justin had even cut up a pickle spear to match. He handed you the two other plates and left to get the beverages. You spoke to Dill as you used your foot to push the ottoman closer to him, the corner wedged between his knees, “You eat, swallow, and say, ‘Thank you,’ after every piece. We’ll give you water when you need it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You nodded your head, encouraging him to start. Using his teeth, he pulled the plate closer and took the first piece as Justin returned. He chewed, swallowed and then said, “Thank you, Sir,” a series he would then repeat over twenty times in the background as you and Justin tackled your sandwiches. You talked about the state of tomorrow’s presentation with Justin while two feet away Dill worked methodically. Justin’s body turned sideways so he could cross his legs as he talked with you; he steadfastly ignored Dill except when you asked him to offer him water. Dill accepted each time, and Justin was exceedingly polite. He knew his behavior mattered, too. 

“Do either of you want another sandwich?” Justin asked, and you shook your head, “He’s had enough and I’m full. That was delicious.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I like to cook for you.”

You pointed at Dill, “He needs his face cleaned; be right back.” You got up and gathered all the empty plates and then headed for the kitchen, returning with a wet paper towel and wiping Dill’s face clean with the same amount of affection one offers a countertop. Then, leaving Dill’s cuffs on his wrists and ankles, you removed the chain and ring holding them in position. “Stand up and stretch,” you instructed him. As he stood, Justin moved towards your end of the sofa to give Dill room after shaking out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” he asked Dill, an intimate tone in his voice as his reprimanded fuck toy sat down beside him. Dill nodded and seemed a bit relieved that Justin was welcoming him back from the floor. You sat down next to Justin, your arm behind him on the sofa and just watched their re-connection. In about a minute, Dill’s head was in Justin’s lap and his body was covered with a burgundy blanket pulled from a neighboring sofa section. Justin stroked Dill’s hair as he spoke to him, “Everything okay with your mom?”

Dill nodded, “Yes, everything’s fine.”

Justin smiled down at him, “Good. Watching your obedience, fuck, that makes me really hard.” He pressed Dill’s cheek against his cock still inside his cotton pants. 

“I’m glad. I want to please you, Sir,” Dill said, “And I’m sorry about—"

Justin shook his head, “It’s over and dealt with—"

You interrupted, “Well, almost. The behavior has been identified and corrected, but there’s still reinforcement to be done.”

Justin turned and looked at you, evaluating your resolve. Once convinced it was inevitable, he reassured Dill, “Just do what you’re told, okay?” 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

Justin looked back at you, waiting for your instructions which he received after you kissed him rather passionately. You indicated that he needed to stand up for a second so Dill could lie all the way down. Turning your attention to Justin, you tugged on his pajama pants, pulling them down and taking Justin’s hand so he could step out of them. Then you made clear what you wanted of your husband, “Be a good boy and sit on his face. He needs to spend some quality time tasting who he belongs to.”

You helped a smiling Justin straddle Dill’s head and find a comfortable position from which he could ride his face. Then you twined your fingers in Dill’s hair and yanked to get his attention, his eyes opening wide, “This will be the best ass you’ve ever eaten, so you better bring your A game.”

Dill’s affirmative answer was muffled which made it all the more perfect. You turned sideways to face Justin, “You deserve this pleasure after that spanking you took.” He moaned intensely, draping his arms around your shoulders as Dill pleasured him. Justin pressed his forehead against your collar bone and begged you, _“Stroke me.”_ You touched his cock, letting it slide in your grasp and, every so often, you had Justin grind to a halt and, “Smother him,” as you pinched Dill’s nose. Each time Dill struggled, you counted to five in your head and then let him breathe again. Dill said, “Thank you,” each time on his own accord. 

_Progress_.


	43. Negotiations 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts as always. ~Plum

**NEGOTIATIONS 43  
JUSTIN’S POV**  
  
Brian, having to approve ad copy and then set up downstairs, gave you and Dill twenty minutes with one another before you were to bring Dill back down to the dungeon. With your one leg on the sofa and the other on the floor, Dill leaned back against you. He moaned as you ran your fingernails up and down his chest. “What color are you now?” you asked him.  
  
“Whatever color is green times ten,” he replied.  
  
“Neon green?” you suggested.  
  
“That’s a perfect descriptor,” Dill confirmed.  
  
You knew you could trust Brian to handle Dill, that he’d be able to suss out exactly what amount of reprimand, restriction and humiliation would get Dill to this perfect mindset. Brian’s uniquely talented in that regard. It made you strangely proud of him. All you had to do now was keep Dill in this obedient, compliant and over-aroused state long enough to get him through the next scene, knowing full well that Brian was certain to jack it up a few notches. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.  
  
You queried Dill, “So you want to go back downstairs, knowing it’s not my mercy you’ll be at?”  
  
Dill purred and the sound physically manifested itself through his entire body as he spoke, “Yes, please.”  
  
“I think we found your happy place,” you teased him.  
  
“I can’t even explain how good I feel right now.”  
  
In truth, Brian had exposed an unknown happy place of your own by punishing Dill the way he did. The fact that he did it on your behalf and that you got to watch some of it in real time gave your cock a big head...so to speak.  
  
You emphasized, “I like this mood on you, but I don’t know what fate awaits you down there—“  
  
“I don’t care. You can have my kidneys if you want.”  
  
You laughed, “Oh, okay. I feel like I should give you a heads up about a few things though….”  
  
“Okay, if you want to,” Dill conceded, lying down in your lap so you could see his face.  
  
“Okay, in no particular order—,” you began.  
  
“I’m listening.”  
  
“Be ready for temperature play, hot and cold. Brian’s very into that in medical scenes.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“He has a speculum and a proctoscope—“  
  
“I know.”  
  
That surprised you, “How do you know? Were you snooping around or something?”  
  
Dill shook his head, “No, never. In the drawer where my robe was, there’s a stack of a few medical gowns and brochures about those instruments.”  
  
You smiled, “Ah, so he’s preparing you, a little foreshadowing.”  
  
“He’s not fooling around,” Dill offered.  
  
“No, he doesn’t when it comes to this stuff. Have you ever done any anal training?” you asked him.  
  
“No, not, like, officially.”  
  
“Well, I hope you like it because that’s going to happen at some point.” Dill moaned at that pronouncement; you ran your hand down his stomach, past his cock to his inner thigh. You cupped his balls in your hand and he looked up at you in captive arousal and said, “ _Squeeze._ ”  
  
You tightened your grasp bit by bit and watched Dill arch his back in response. “You’re a little masochist, huh?” you asked him.  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“More?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
You squeezed them even more tightly, delighted at Dill’s physical response. “So you _are_ a pain slut…,” you observed, “We just have to apply the right type of pain.” You massaged his balls in your hand as you gave him the last warning about what awaited him downstairs, “Listen, Brian has rules about arousal. He expects you to be able to control yourself. I’m technically not supposed to be hard when I’m across his lap. You shouldn’t be hard when he examines you—“  
  
“Uh, that’s impossible,” Dill objected.  
  
“I know. It’s supposed to be. Just be prepared that he may punish you for it.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Sometimes I get permission to jerk off before a scene so I don’t disobey him, but when I do that, the scene is much more painful.”  
  
“And how does that even work anyway?” Dill asked you. “That wouldn’t phase my cock.”  
  
“It only works when you’re almost forty. For you, it’s a hopeless situation,” you clarified, “And, be warned, there’s nothing Brian loves more than a hopeless situation.”  
  
***********  
 **DILL’S POV**  
  
The descent to their basement dungeon—while clad in a medical gown beneath your robe and the leather cuffs still on your wrists and ankles—was terrifyingly exhilarating. You might as well have been skydiving…with an uncomfortably stubborn erection. Justin had pushed you against the kitchen wall and kissed/fondled you for several seconds prior to heading downstairs. “This is gonna make...the erection situation much worse,” you managed to get out.  
  
“I know,” he grinned, “I like that.”  
  
“Okay, but doctors take an oath to do no harm,” you reminded him.  
  
He laughed, “I’m not your doctor today. Not my problem.”  
  
“You two might be a little bit crazy,” you reported.  
  
“You’re gonna love every minute of it. Trust me,” Justin reassured you, “ _But_ , on a serious note, if we get down there and it’s clear that this is exploratory surgery, we’re gonna make a run for it.”  
  
“Ha, ha, Sir. You know damn well we won’t make it out of the wine cellar.”  
  
As Justin opened the door to the basement, cool air swirled up under your robe, “After you, Patient Zero.”  
  
***********  
  
Justin knocked twice before opening the door to the dungeon. You’d surrendered your robe to him, and as you stepped into the room the deliciously intentional scent of rubbing alcohol molested your nostrils at the same time both you and Justin were reacting to the changes Brian had made. The mirror was gone. In its place was a track on the ceiling holding a white medical curtain. Justin asked him, pointing to the material, “Um, when did you put that up?”  
  
“Five minutes ago, it’s up with killer double sided tape. I’ll mount it for real later,” Brian admitted.  
  
But there was more than that…. There was ambient hospital background noise: beeps and dings, footsteps, the occasional cough, distant phones ringing, muffled conversation, intercom calls. You looked around trying to find the source, and Brian figured out what you were doing and pointed to his phone on the far side of the table, “ _YouTube._ Pretty cool, huh?” Justin shook his head at Brian’s maniacal diligence and then wrapped his hands around your shoulders and spoke into your neck, “He likes you, Dill. You should be flattered.”  
  
“I am,” you assured them as your eyes returned to Brian, nude except for an open white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck, who was then sitting in the big black leather chair sort of smirking. He had a pen and clipboard on the table beside him. Part of you was terrified of all of this but another part—that you deliberately subdued—wanted to run and jump on him like a frenzied monkey and live out every medical fantasy you’d ever had all at once. You took that part of yourself, pickled it, and sealed it in a very tight jar.  
  
You didn’t realize how long you’d been frozen in place until you felt Justin’s hand on your bare back, nudging you forward, “Go ahead. He’s ready for you.”  
  
Brian spoke, every word replete with authority, “So, what brings you to my clinic today?”  
  
You looked back over your shoulder, intent on conveying to Justin the inner terror you were feeling at not knowing the answer to his question. Justin read you quickly, you hardly had time to face front again. He took over, still nudging your bare feet forward and began, “Dr. Kinney, hi. How are you? It’s been awhile.”  
  
“Great to see, too, Mr. Taylor. I trust you’re doing well.”  
  
“Better than ever,” Justin replied, “Dr. Kinney, this is Dill. He’s interested in being a whore for us, but I want to be sure he’s up for the job—“  
  
Brian’s eyebrows arched as he pointed to the front of your tented gown, “Um, he’s definitely up for it.”  
  
“Bad choice of words—,” Justin tried.  
  
“And behavior,” Brian added, definitely indicating displeasure at the status of your cock. Somehow, that just made you harder. _Thanks for nothing, Justin._  
  
“Come here,” Brian said, waving you forward. Had you not felt Justin behind you ready for an accidental trust fall scenario, your feet would’ve been cemented to the floor. Brian spoke again but not to you, “Frankly, Mr. Taylor, I’m a bit surprised that you’d bring someone in a state of such abject arousal into my clinic without my permission.”  
  
Somehow you were another two steps closer to the edge of a magically appearing cliff.  
  
“Dr. Kinney,” Justin tried, “I discussed this with him prior to our arrival. The situation was unavoidable.”  
  
Brian looked right past you and over your left shoulder and seemed to be studying Justin’s face. He seemed mildly unsatisfied with what he saw, shook his head, picked up his pen and drew a square in each bottom corner of the paper on his clipboard. In the right corner square, he made a tick mark. Then he looked up at the ceiling briefly, looked back at the square and made another. He returned the pen and clipboard to the table and sighed. Justin pushed you closer again putting you about a foot in front of Brian. From there you could read what was embroidered in blue on his white lab coat:  
  
 _Brian Kinney, M.D.  
Board Certified Assologist_  
  
You indulged in a micro-smile for only a nanosecond because the tip of Brian’s index finger was coming toward your cotton-covered dick. He tapped the head of your cock causing a dark circle to appear on the fabric, looked up at you and said, “Young man, you’re wet.”  
  
“I’ve waited a long time for this appointment, I guess I’m kind of excited,” you replied.  
  
“Is that so?” Brian asked.  
  
You figured you just play along at this point because why the hell not? “Yes, there was a long, like nine inches long, waiting list.”  
  
Justin chimed in, this time with his warm palm on your ass cheek, “We’re so grateful you could _squeeze_ us in. We know how busy you are, and we appreciate your time.”  
  
Brian smiled warmly at him which made you relax a little, “So what exactly can I do for you?”  
  
Justin was finding his groove, “Well, I’ve spent a fair amount of time with Dill, and I think he’s ready for this mentally and emotionally. He made some excellent progress while you were getting set up—“  
  
Brian inquired, “Is that so?”  
  
“Yes,” Justin responded, “He knows he needs a physical examination to prove to us and himself that he can handle this.”  
  
Brian looked up at you with such sincerity in his brown eyes that it was going to get very difficult to keep experiencing this just as role play, “Is that true?” he asked you. “Is Mr. Taylor correct?”  
  
“Yes, Sir. I understand that I have to meet your standards.”  
  
“Well, that’s a good sign,” Brian said, “But there’s a real reason that I don’t want you erect for this. Can you imagine what that reason might be?”  
  
You tried to think of an answer while being mortified as Brian bunched up your pale aqua gown and literally hung the fabric on your uppity dick. A couple reasons came to mind so you just offered all of them, “Well, um, Dr. Kinney, if I’m hard when you start to examine me, you won’t be able to determine what makes me hard...maybe? And also, a rule is a rule, and it’s not my place to question or disobey your rules at all. Ever? Even if I don’t know what they are—?”  
  
Justin squeezed your ass cheek again, and Brian looked impressed, “Both of those are a very big part of it, yes. I hope you’re as slutty as you are smart, Dill.”  
  
“Oh, he is,” Justin quipped behind you. “More than he even realizes.”  
  
“Well,” Brian added, “You better hope that you’re right, Mr. Taylor, for your own sake.”  
  
To your horror, Justin replied in a whisper behind your ear, “ _I’m always right._ ”  
  
“What was that?” Brian inquired.  
  
“Nothing, Dr. Kinney. Carry on,” he replied.  
  
But Dr. Kinney had heard that answer and didn’t like it. He waved you forward again, making your choice inevitable because he pulled your wrist, too. “Justin, untie his gown.”  
  
Your heart began a bass drum beat it would keep for the whole scene as Justin untied the strings and Brian pulled your gown away and tossed it onto the table. “Turn around,” Brian said as he rotated your body so you were now facing Justin. And then he completely surprised you by pulling you down into his lap. You felt your own sense of agency get up, strut confidently out of the room and abandon you. You were delightfully powerless.  
  
***********  
  
Brian ordered Justin on his knees in front of both of you, and you proceeded to have an out of body experience as Brian started to touch you, his large hands running up and down your chest, his lips kissing your neck.  
  
 _Oh dear god…_  
  
You looked down as his hands ran along your inner thighs. “Spread your legs,” he said, “Wide.” You moaned as Brian scooped each of your legs and positioned them like he wanted. You leaned back in romance novel cover photo abandon. And then his tone completely changed towards Justin, “Listen to me,” he said to him.  
  
“I am,” Justin defended from the floor.  
  
“I don’t appreciate you setting him up to fail. Is that clear?”  
  
“I wasn’t trying to. He’s excited. What am I supposed to do?”  
  
 _There’s nothing Brian loves more…_  
  
“Are you saying you can’t solve simple problems yourself? Because that’s quite an admission against interest.”  
  
 _Than a hopeless situation._  
  
“No, Sir. I’m not saying that,” Justin tried.  
  
 _He's a make-believe doctor and attorney..._  
  
“Well, good. Because you’re going to open your mouth and solve this one right now,” Brian scolded.  
  
You felt fright zooming around inside you looking for a rest stop as Justin moved in closer and began to lick your cock. “Do not waste time,” Brian admonished him, so Justin came in incredibly close, and started to stroke you, his blue eyes searching for yours. When your eyes met, he spoke, “Come for me, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” you answered, praying that you even could.  
  
You reached back for Brian as Justin gave you astoundingly good head, listening as Brian offered you encouraging words…  
  
 _”What a slutty patient you are. I like that.”_  
  
You huffed out, “Thank...you…Sir.”  
  
You now knew two definite facts about Brian: he loves a hopeless situation and he has a major kink about forced fellatio that seems to kick in about once an hour.  
  
He had a hand on Justin’s head and pressed your cock as deep as it would go down his throat. You shuddered as you felt Justin gagging over and over the head of your dick. His eyes reddened as he never let up.  
  
And then, thank God, your orgasm, you felt it start, and your legs lost all muscle memory leaving you flailing like a broken marionette, “ _Fuck_ , Dr. Kinney...Sir...I’m gonna… _fuck_...come.”  
  
Your entire body rode a hot flash as you unloaded down Justin’s throat. You felt like a worn out washcloth when you were done. Brian warned Justin as you tried to get your wits about you, “Don’t you ever set him up to fail again.”  
  
“It won’t happen again,” Justin promised but you felt like his fingers were _maybe_ crossed behind his back.  
  
And just like that, things were back to, well, normal….  
  
“Well, now that we have a true baseline,” Brian announced, “We can begin.”


	44. Negotiations 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year 2021! Your feedback is appreciated. :) Plum

**NEGOTIATIONS 44  
DILL’S POV**  
  
The first instruction you were given was to stand on the small step on the edge of the exam table and bend over onto the crisp white paper. Justin stood beside you, his hand rubbing your shoulder and upper back. He whispered to you as Brian readied his table of tools. “You okay?” Justin began, “You’re doing great.”  
  
“Yep. It smells like a hospital in here. I love that.”  
  
Justin grinned, “I know. I told you: he doesn’t mess around.”  
  
“You were right,” you admitted.  
  
He gave you pointers, “Always ‘present’ for him when you bend over: stand on your toes and arch your back.” You did as instructed and heard Brian say, “Good boy,” and then, “Let’s get your vital signs first and then we’ll deal with the reason you’re here.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
And then with no verbal warning, Brian’s gloved fingers spread you apart and inserted an ice cold thermometer in your ass. You looked up at Justin, and he stroked your forehead as if you were a small child with the sniffles and explained, “Frozen cold lube.”  
  
Your hands and feet became clammy as a wicked blend of intrusive humiliation began to whirl inside you. You only knew what kind of thermometer it was when it beeped. Brian removed it and expressed dissatisfaction at the reading. The next attempt was four thermometers at once, again, all ice cold. “Don’t drop them,” Justin warned you. As each one completed its cycle and beeped, it was removed. As number three was removed, number four slipped out of you and fell, hitting the step you were standing on.  
  
You didn’t dare move. You wanted time to stop, too.  
  
Dr. Kinney _hmmmd_ in disapproval, rested his hand on your ass and slipped his thumb, also cold-coated, inside you. He scolded you, “An ass as tight as yours shouldn’t let that happen.”  
  
“I apologize,” you muttered, not sure if you were allowed to speak.  
  
“Keep your ass up at all times,” Brian warned you as his hand slapped your butt cheek. You felt your face redden, so you hid it in your hands.  
  
“ _He means it,_ ” Justin whispered, his fingers toying with your hair, _He‘ll punish you for that no matter what.”_  
  
Brian teased you, pumping his thumb in and out until you moaned. “You like that?” he asked you.  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“I like when you tell me the truth,” Brian said and then he ordered you, “Get up on the table on your back, feet in the stirrups.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
Brian rolled back on his wheeled stool while Justin helped you get up on the table. That was the moment you realized why the cuffs had been left on. Justin cuffed your ankles to the stirrups and your arms over your head to the bar holding the roll of paper. He rubbed your stomach and your head, “You still green?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good,” he affirmed as he leaned down and kissed you. He promised, “The more you obey him, the more I want to do unspeakable things to you.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir. Like what?” you asked.  
  
Justin pondered your question, “Hmm, I don’t know… Maybe dip you in a barrel of warm honey and then dust you with bougie granola and make you my snack.”  
  
You blinked several times before responding, “You really might be insane, Sir.”  
  
“Well, it could be cold organic vanilla yogurt instead of warm honey. Is that better?”  
  
“I think you spend too much time at snobby grocery stores, Sir. That’s what I think,” you replied.  
  
Justin smiled at you very sweetly, his back to Brian, “You’re not wrong. Bottom line is: I’ll do whatever I want to you because _you’re mine._ ”  
  
You smiled back, “I know.” You liked that.  
  
Brian got up and came to the opposite side of the table. Justin backed up a step as your new physician smiled warmly at you with his stethoscope in his ears as he leaned forward to listen to your heart. “Quite a robust heartbeat,” he reported.  
  
“Thank you,” you said. _And quite the understatement as there’s an entire Christmas parade of high school marching bands in my chest cavity right now, and all of them have killer drum sections._  
  
You stared up at Dr. Kinney as his gloved hand ran up your chest and curled around your neck. He applied just the slightest amount of pressure, and you wondered if you would ever breathe again or if maybe oxygen was overrated. Justin, meanwhile, was touching your inner thigh, petting you and grinning all the while.  
  
“Open your mouth and say ah,” Dr. Kinney instructed, and when you complied, he slid a flavored tongue depressor too far down your throat, making you gag over and over. When he finally removed it, he grinned at you, “I love that choking sound. Makes me hard.”  
  
You coughed hard in response, your body trying to curl up but unable to find enough slack in your restraints. Justin wiped your mouth with his fingers, “You’re okay. You can’t help it. You’re just a whore.”  
  
Uh,” you said, “That was flavored weird. Was it cherry?”  
  
Brian pulled the wrapper out of his pocket, laughed, and then handed it to Justin, asking him, “What does that say?” He clearly couldn’t read the small print.  
  
“Yeah, cherry,” Justin affirmed, “You need your glasses,” he scolded your faux physician.  
  
Dr. Kinney, “No, they’ll make his hole look too big and I might hurt him.”  
  
(You couldn’t decide which side of that issue you came down on so you mentally recused yourself.)  
  
Dr. Kinney clicked on a pen light and looked in your eyes, up your nose and in your ears. “So far, so good,” he announced. He took your pulse. His fingers moved to your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before pinching them...over and over...all while smiling down at you with his irresistible bedside manner. “You know,” he said, “I know a little about your case; I’ve done some research, and I think I’ve determined what ails you.”  
  
“You have?” you asked.  
  
Dr. Kinney sighed as he gave you the news, “Yes, I’m afraid you have UFS.”  
  
“What’s UFS?” you asked.  
  
Dr. Kinney’s expression remained serious and over-the-top concerned as he replied, “Under-Fucked Syndrome. It’s uncommon in homosexual men your age—mostly just in young Republicans, but we still see it from time to time. Nothing to worry too much about as Mr. Taylor and I can design a treatment plan that will all but cure you.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir. That’s very reassuring,” you offered.  
  
“I suspected as much,” Justin said to you, “But, nevertheless, I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”  
  
“Thank you,” you replied, “But If you guys insinuate that I’m a Republican again, I will scream my safe word and leave.”  
  
Dr. Kinney apologized, “Please forgive us. We saw the size of your trunk and assumed you were an elephant. It won’t happen again.”  
  
Jusitn leaned forward laughing, kissed your forehead, and continued, “I had an advanced case of UFS when I met Brian, and he cured me in one night over twenty years ago.”  
  
Brian stifled a laugh, cleared his throat and got serious again, “Well, to be fair, he requires constant treatments to keep his UFS under control. He ‘thinks’ he was cured in one night, but that delusion is an unfortunate side effect of the treatment.”  
  
“He must have great insurance,” you added.  
  
“We had a telethon, Dr. Kinney. Remember?” Justin asked, and when Brian didn’t immediately respond, Justin reached over the table and patted Brian’s white-coat arm, “It _was_ a long time ago.”  
  
“What’s a telethon?” you asked.  
  
Justin smiled down at you, “It’s a _GoFundMe_ for septuagenarians.”  
  
Dr. Kinney raised an eyebrow and replied, “Be careful, Mr. Taylor, or you may find that _your_ treatments are no longer covered by _your_ insurance.” And when Justin smirked in response, he added, “And that there are no other providers in your area for five hundred miles.”  
  
“I can always go out of network; I mean, I can afford it,” Justin lobbed back.  
  
Dr. Kinney looked Justin up and down before walking to the table, picking up his clipboard and adding another tick mark to the square in the bottom right corner. That was the moment you realized what the squares were probably for and yours, thank all the gods everywhere, was still empty. You looked at Justin who was watching what you were watching and decided that he knew, too, and didn’t care one bit.  
  
You spoke up, jingling your restrictive chains against the metal they were hooked to, “Um, this room gets kind of chilly when no one’s paying attention to me.”  
  
Dr. Kinney set his clipboard down and turned your direction, smiling kindly again, “You make a very valid point, Dill.” He did not share that smile with Justin but he didn’t see it as he was back by your side groping you affectionately.  
  
Dr. Kinney added, now standing between your knees, “The good news for you is that we caught this early. I’ve seen one or two hopeless situations over my career, but this isn’t one of them. The question is, will you be committed to the treatment plan?”  
  
Justin answered for you, “Oh, he will be. Trust me.”  
  
You nodded emphatically, making eye contact with both of them. “It’s just such a relief to know what I’m dealing with.”  
  
“That’s the spirit,” Dr. Kinney said, “A positive attitude is half the battle.”  
  
……  
  
Next, Dr. Kinney examined you much more thoroughly, fucking you with his cold gloved fingers, pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm that maddeningly alluded you. You knew it wasn’t possible to come again and the constant stimulation felt wonderful and gross at the same time. You looked up at Justin and admitted, “I’m going to scream.”  
  
“Frustrated?” he asked with a sly smile.  
  
Dr. Kinney stopped, “I’m sorry. Is there a problem?”  
  
“He doesn’t like this part of the treatment,” Justin said, winking at you. You couldn’t tell who’s side he was on anymore.  
  
“Well, we can switch gears,” Dr. Kinney said, and Justin agreed. You exhaled dramatically. Justin unhooked your hands and pulled them forward, “Shake them out. I’m sure they need it.” As you complied, Dr. Kinney questioned you, “Have you ever had your ass plugged?”  
  
“I have a plug at home that I’ve played with but it’s really hard to use sex toys on campus.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I also have a urethral plug I like.”  
  
Dr. Kinney’s eyebrow rose again, perched in uncertainty, “You sound?”  
  
“Sometimes. The pressure is wicked.”  
  
“Don’t you have to be really careful and use sterile lube?” Justin asked.  
  
You nodded, “Yes, and I just have a short plug. I haven’t done the whole cock-stuffing thing.”  
  
Brian looked at Justin, “We don’t even do that. He can teach us something.”  
  
“He can teach _you_ something,” Justin offered, “I’m not sticking something into _my_ cock.”  
  
Brian laughed, muttering under his breath, “Right, just everywhere else.”  
  
You laughed as Justin ignored him. Dr. Kinney continued the questioning, “Ever been fisted?” as he sat himself on the stool between your legs.  
  
“No, Sir.”  
  
“It’s fucking amazing,” Justin informed you, and then he laughed and pointed at Brian, “I fisted him by accident just the day.”  
  
Brian started to chuckle, so you asked him, “Is that true?”  
  
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Dr. Kinney offered, “Time to finish your examination.” Brian picked up the speculum and told you, “Um, lie back down, please. I hope you like a good stretch.” Justin focused you, “Dill, look at me and communicate so I can be sure this goes the way you want, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” you agreed.  
  
***********  
 **BRIAN’S POV**  
  
You gathered Dill’s cock and balls in your hands and slipped a black rubber ring around both keeping them out of your way. Then you dipped your speculum in hot lube before carefully beginning the insertion process. Dill seemed please with that detail, his back arching as he moaned, “Oh my _fucking_ God.”  
  
“Like that?” you asked him.  
  
His eyes were wide open and not blinking as he added, “Jesus, that feels so good. Oh my god.”  
  
You hadn’t fucked this kid, so you took your time, moving incrementally as he relaxed around the hard awkward metal. He kept staring at the ceiling, and Justin pulled his eyes back to his each time. You listened to Dill but watched Justin’s face because you can read that accurately no matter what. If he looked concerned, you stopped pushing. You intended to incorporate a little pain play into the mix, but Dill’s breathing was inconsistent. With the tool about halfway inserted, you stopped and held firm. “Talk to us, Dill,” you tried.  
  
“My mouth went dry,” he said.  
  
Justin smiled, “You want some water?”  
  
“Sure,” he panted.  
  
After Justin brought him some, you tried again, “Are you uncomfortable or do you feel good?”  
  
He rolled his head toward Justin, “I don’t have a word for this feeling, but it’s not bad.”  
  
Justin leaned down and kissed him before making a request, “Good. I want you to look at me and listen to me.”  
  
Dill responded, “Yes, Sir.”  
  
You watched as Justin’s hand slithered down Dill’s torso and wrapped around his inner thigh, “This feeling you feel, let it in. Let it take over every inch of you.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
You watched as Justin blindly ran his fingertip around the circumference of Dill’s hole. The kid relaxed a little more so you pushed a little more as Justin continued, “This is what floating feels like. It’s a little weird at first, but it’s going to be amazing.”  
  
Dill looked dumbfounded, but Justin was right, and then your husband’s hand moved, his fingers folding inward because he was waving you in. You pushed a little more and got another insane moan from your patient, and a little appreciation smile from your spouse. Then Justin’s hand slid across and indicated that he wanted you to remove the rubber ring. You nodded, made sure it was super slick and rolled it off his cock and balls. Dill’s hips rose up off the table; Justin urged them back down. Dill looked desperate as he spoke, “This is...fucked up. I’m going to shoot but I know I can’t.”  
  
Justin kept at it, “Then go ahead. Just let whatever’s going to happen...happen.”  
  
“I can’t,” Dill tried, his voice laced with distress.  
  
“You can,” Justin encouraged, “And you will because I told you to and you don’t disobey me.” You looked down between your legs to confirm that your cock was looking up at you. And then you watched as Justin cradled Dill’s balls in his hand and started to squeeze. “Tell Dr. Kinney that you like this,” he ordered your patient. Dill wore a confused expression, lost somewhere between discomfort and satisfaction with no ability to move in either direction. Justin squeezed even more, “Tell him now.”  
  
“I...like...this,” Dill squeaked out before he groaned in an enviable agony as a tiny amount of fluid leaked onto his stomach. “Ah, fuck. Sir, please,” he begged Justin.  
  
“Please what?” Justin asked.  
  
“Mercy, please,” Dill tried again.  
  
Justin turned, looked at you and gave you a signal to start pulling out. As you did, he worked quickly to unchain Dill’s ankles and remove all of the cuffs on his body. “Good boy,” he praised him.  
  
“Hold still,” you warned him, positioning him on his side and holding him down. “One more temperature check. Don’t drop it.” You pretended that you got a reading you liked, and then began to wipe him clean. He held onto Justin’s torso the way a child does when he doesn’t want you to leave him at school on the first day.  
  
“Brian, help me,” Justin requested when you were finished. You got up having shed your white coat and stethoscope, picked Dill up off the table, made a one hundred and eighty degree turn and deposited him onto the bed. You studied Justin as he walked the perimeter of the bed, got a condom from the nightstand and dispensed with his dungeon clothes. He kneeled next to Dill, “Roll over and get your ass up so I can fuck you.”  
  
 _Well, good day, Sunshine…_  
  
You started stroking yourself as you joined them on the bed. Justin gave orders, telling you to sit at the head of the bed with Dill’s upper body between your knees. Justin talked shit to Dill as he fucked him, “You’re such a useful little whore, you know that?”  
  
Dill moaned, “Yes, Sir.”  
  
“And the amazing way you feel right now, I gave you that. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes, one hundred percent.”  
  
Justin was glistening with power and purpose; you toyed with your cock some more until he tasked you with, “Hold him where he is so I can fuck the shit of the him.”  
  
You smiled at Justin as you kept Dill pinned and gave Justin something substantial to really push against. It was one hell of a show, and when it was over, you played the role of a stagehand by dimming the lights and quietly putting everything from your medical scene away. When you laid back down with them, Dill was curled against Justin’s chest. That was when the three of you could once again clearly hear the hospital sounds still playing, only it was on autoplay at that point playing some ER track complete with chaos, trauma, gunshot wounds, wailing patients and blue codes. Dill laughed, “Wow, this is super realistic.”  
  
“Wait til it gets to the child birth part,” you teased.  
  
“Oh, um, no way,” Justin said, “Turn that off.”  
  
“Yes, dear,” you said as you retrieved your phone. When you rejoined them, Justin motioned for you to grab a blanket and come in closer. Dill was nestled between you when you asked him, “You good? You nice and green?”  
  
“Very,” Dill purred, and then he asked, “Was that thing even all the way inside me?”  
  
“No,” Justin said.  
  
“It was as far as it could go,” you clarified, “UFS is an evil disorder. Sneaks up on you at the most inconvenient times.”  
  
“Brian, you crack me up. I never thought I’d get medical play and a comedy show all in one,” Dill admitted, “And I don’t even have to pay for this—“  
  
“Well…not with money…,” you mentioned. Dill’s eye’s opened wide; you winked at him.  
  
Justin took his opportunity, “Dill, do not encourage him.”  
  
You laughed, “And just think, if Justin hadn’t refused to wear the nurse’s outfit I had for him, it would’ve be—“  
  
Dill interrupted asking Justin, “Wait, was that why you threw that bag across the room when we were upstairs?”  
  
Your partner interrupted and spoke only to you, “You are high if you think I was going to wear nothing but a shiny white patent leather jock strap and a tiny pillbox hat and be your nurse, Brian.”  
  
“This experience was for _Dill_ ,” you pointed out, “So maybe try being a little less selfish?”  
  
Dill’s body was reverberating with laughter between you as Justin continued to bitch at you, “And I don’t do hats. And you know that.”  
  
“You’re so cute when you’re outraged,” you told your better half, “But calm down or I’ll have to sedate you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dill teased Justin, “He’s a Board Certified Assologist, after all.”  
  
“Trust me,” Justin lobbed back, “Nobody knows that better than me. Who do you think bought him that white coat?”  
  
“Exactly,” you pointed out, “You bought me an outfit and asked me to play a role for you and I did it...because...well, probably, because I love you or something.”  
  
Dill smiled, “Aw, because he loves you.”  
  
Justin was unassuaged by your affectionate declaration, “Hats and kink do not mesh for me, okay?”  
  
“Duly noted, darling.”  
  
Dill asked the obvious question, “How did we go from ER to divorce court? That was quick.”  
  
Justin announced matter-of-factly, “Okay, I’ll drop the accusation and stipulate that Brian possessed no overarching motive and wasn’t trying to trigger me with cosplay.”  
  
You jabbed Dill playfully with your elbow, “You’re right. He is a little crazy. Decades of UFS treatments clearly take a toll.”  
  
***********  
Justin spent time with Dill after the scene, helping him get settled to sleep in the theater. Dill was more than willing to sleep in the dungeon alone, but Justin refused; the idea made him queasy. While they finished up, you’d retired upstairs to begin your skin routine. As you exfoliated and began layering serum after serum, a new perspective was born, maybe because you were staring at yourself in the mirror, quietly battling back the effects of time as it took root:  
  
 _Love is freedom in practice, the space between every breath, not the breath itself.  
  
Ugh._.  
  
You slapped your face and tried to snap out of it.  
  
The man you love, you could hear him on the stairs, even though his feet were probably bare, his presence somehow swelled ahead of him. As you killed the light and exited the bathroom, he was sliding into bed. As you joined him, there were conversation topics imminently available, but they were discarded, redundant. “Tired?” is all he wanted to know.  
  
He meant: _will you be able to sleep? because you need to…._ He knew you had to get up very early and run through your presentation.  
  
“Yeah,” you answered.  
  
He smiled and urged you onto your back, his body melting warm on top of you. He pressed his hips against yours and _”mmmm”_ ed in response to your erection. You knew he was paying attention to more than just Dill in the basement; he was keeping tabs on you, too, on whether or not you’d have this for him when he was done with his new toy.  
  
“Wanna hear something funny?” Justin asked you.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“When he was getting ready for bed, Dill asked me if I’m worried about all the demerits I’m racking up—“  
  
You wrapped your hands around his biceps, “You should be worried about the demerits you’re racking up.”  
  
Justin wasn’t buying it, “Yeah, okay. I want to sit on your cock.”  
  
“I’d like that,” you said, “But tease me a little, okay?”  
  
“ _Okay,_ ” he whispered as you helped him take your cock in the dark under the sheets, his torso covering yours. Justin placed his fingers on your eyebrows, traced them and let them drift down over your eyelids, effectively closing them. He kissed you as his hips moved like a wave during low tide, dragging moments of intense pleasure out of their hiding places. “ _Tease_ me,” you reminded him.  
  
“Tease yourself,” he said, so you smiled as you placed your hands on his ass and squeezed, sliding your cock in and almost out of him over and over, his moans vibrating through your skin. You get to cheat like that because he’s yours; you get to pluck out the most pleasurable nano-movement and wear it out whenever you want. That privilege feels as good as the act itself. He took over at some point and rode you until you came inside him, the longest emptying you’d ever known. You confessed when it was over, feeling far more like a patient than a doctor, “Watching you with him made me really hard.”  
  
“I noticed that,” he said and then he kissed you for a long long _long_ time.  
  
You confessed further, “Somehow, I think you knew that it would.”  
  
Justin smiled down at you as his index finger traced the edge of your face, “Maybe, but that’s a secret.”  
  
“So what are you going to do to him tomorrow while I’m slaving away at work?” you asked.  
  
“Um, probably a lot of whatever the fuck I want.”  
  
With affection in your voice, you asked him, “Why did I train you so well, and how did I not see this coming?”  
  
“Because you habitually underestimate me, Dr. Kinney. You always have.”  
  
“I guess that’s my disorder then huh?”  
  
Justin grinned down at you, “Yep, twenty plus years of the best suffering you’ve ever had.”  
  
 _And counting..._


End file.
